


The Assistant

by onceuponanobsessedfan



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Cumberbitches, Cumbercollective, Original Work
Genre: Celebrities, Drama, F/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 66,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponanobsessedfan/pseuds/onceuponanobsessedfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benedict Cumberbatch hires a new PA that sparks his interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so so so SO sorry for this hot mess. I’m not even British. Some characters are made up. Some are real, like Ben’s niece, Emily. Should I even continue? Let me know. Thanks for reading!

 

* * *

 

CHAPTER 1

Avery Lorris tapped her foot nervously in the foyer of the posh London flat in Chelsea. It was an unusually hot afternoon in May and she was almost certain she was sweating through her navy blue sport coat. Avery adjusted the hem of her stockings and smoothed her pencil skirt. She brushed her long brown hair from her face and cursed that she hadn't gotten a haircut sooner. Long hair made her look like a child—a shorter 'do would have made her appear more professional, less desperate for work. Avery could have knocked her roommate, Nani, on the gob for convincing her to leave it long.

And now she could feel sweat rolling down the back of her neck. _Great_. Avery could hear voices in the next room, two men, one a low baritone and the other higher, more nasally. She tapped her Prada pump (a knock-off, but who could tell the difference?) impatiently and straightened her back. She had everything she needed laid out neatly on her lap—notebook, legal pad, manila folder with her resume tucked inside, even a pair of reading glasses. She didn't actually need them, but she had popped by the drugstore and bought a pair of cheaters just in case she went blind within the next hour-and-a-half.

Avery breathed in and out slowly through her mouth. She smelled her lapel and dug in her coin purse for a miniature bottle of perfume. She spritzed a little on her wrists and rubbed them along her neck. Avery sat up higher on the salmon couch and craned her neck to look at her reflection in the gilded mirror across the hall. Lipstick? Check. Mascara? Check? Foundation? Well . . . even a layer of foundation couldn't cover the freckles streaked under her blue eyes and across her nose. She scrunched her face and tossed her curled hair over her shoulder.

The door to the next room opened and Avery stood quickly, spilling the contents of her lap onto the floor. A shorter man with thinning hair and a posh jumper looked down at the young woman.

“Mrs. Lorris?”

“Uh—it's _Ms_., actually.” She scrambled to pick up her papers and notebooks, clutching them to her chest, then stood and stuck her hand out. “Pleasure to meet you, mister, uh—”

“Call me Frank. Y'need help with those?” he asked.

“No, no thank you,” Avery stammered. She shuffled her belongings until they were neatly stacked and tucked them under her arm. The young brunette grabbed her purse from the couch and swung it over her shaking arm. Why was she so damn nervous? “I'm ready if he is.”

Frank nodded, opened the door to the other room, and gestured inside. Avery took a last breath and walked in with quivering knees. The room was actually a study, with tall windows and cherry wood bookshelves, a rather modern-looking light fixture straight off the rack from Tesco, and a lovely cream sofa before a small unlit fireplace. Towards the middle of the room between two bookshelves was a large oak desk with green felt, covered in books and stacks of papers. Behind the desk, on a crimson armchair, was the man who would be interviewing her.

Frank closed the door and announced, “Ben, she's here.”

The man behind the desk, hidden behind the piles of mysterious papers, peeked his head around and looked at Frank, then at Avery. “Please come in.”

But Avery couldn't move. She was suddenly terrified of messing up his last name, even though she had studied this man like the back of her hand. His first name was easy to remember—Benedict like the eggs, her favorite—but the last bit somehow got chewed up in the cogs of her brain. Cucumber . . . no, Cumburbon . . . no, _oh shit_ —

The man Frank had called Ben stood from the desk. He was a bean pole, 6'0, with a mop of curly black hair and a pair of average khakis and a red shirt. He was barefoot. He smiled amiably, those now-famous high cheekbones practically splitting the room in half.

Frank, Lord bless him, reminded Avery to move by placing his hand on her arm and ushering her towards a chair opposite of the cluttered desk. He said his goodbyes and breezed out of the room, leaving Avery alone with the tall, handsome actor with the funny last name she _still_ couldn't remember. Cumple . . . Cumberbon . . . _come-the-fuck-_ on—!

“Tea?”

Avery jumped. She whipped her head to the voice and Ben— _Benedict_ —was near the fireplace, pouring himself a cuppa from the coffee table.

“Yes, please.” She cleared her throat painfully.

It wasn't like Avery hadn't worked with handsome men before, or even celebrities. There were plenty of good-looking, wealthy chaps in her old PR firm, and her work with Carlton Briggs from _Coronation Street_ gave her a taste of celebrity life in London. She was a professional, goddamn it, and professionals didn't get hung up on potential employers who just happened to be one of Britain's biggest stars.

“Sugar?” Benedict asked.

“No, thank you.”

Avery clutched at her notepad and folder tightly. She felt like she should be serving _him_ tea, maybe even fetching him a pair of slippers for the chilly wood floor. She leaned over and watched him prepare his drink. Avery took a pen from her purse and flipped to a clean page of her legal pad. She scribbled _two sugar_ and _dash milk_ and underlined each confection.

Benedict came back around to the desk and handed her a steaming cup. “Thank you,” Avery said.

Her potential employer crinkled his dark brows together as he looked down at her. “What are you writing?”

Avery glanced at her handwriting. “Uh, just making note of how you like your tea.”

Instead of giving her a puzzled look as she feared, the man simply laughed and sat back down behind the desk. He planted his cup on a book and moved the large stacks of papers to the floor. “I apologize for the mess,” he said. “My agent keeps giving me scripts to look over and I still can't find my draft of the next _Sherlock_ episode.”

“Right,” Avery said with a small laugh. She sipped her tea, wishing she had asked for milk, and was struck by how normal Mr. Cumber-something was. On telly he was a sharp-witted, mechanical detective with a tasteful disdain for “normal” people, but here in this office on this bright Sunday afternoon, he looked like a regular man with a regular 9-to-5 job. He could have been a professor if Avery hadn't known any better, or maybe a banker.

“Now,” Benedict said, leaning back in his chair. “Ms. Lorris—”

“Avery,” the young woman blurted. “You can call me Avery, Mr. Cumberbatch.”

 _Cumberbatch!_ Avery thought. _Nailed it!_

“Please call me Ben,” the actor said, grinning. He drank from his cuppa and looked around his still-cluttered desk.

“Oh, here,” Avery pulled out her resume and handed it to the dark-hair man. She crossed her legs at the ankle and sat up straight, ready to be grilled.

Benedict studied the resume intently, his bluish-green eyes rolling across the paper like marbles. He pursed his lips and nodded every so often. “Oxford, eh?” he said finally. “Good school.”

“I did my MBA in Manchester,” Avery added.

“Yes, I see. Graduated 1st, very nice.” Ben took another sip of tea, stroked his long chin and nodded at the paper before him. “You worked three years at McCougher and Sons in Bristol . . .” He looked over at Avery and asked sincerely, “Why did you leave?”

“Bankruptcy,” she said. “The company, not me. I decided to get out before they went completely under.”

Benedict nodded and turned his attention back to the resume. “You were a PA for Carlton Briggs?”

Avery nodded. “Yes, just over a year.”

“How was that?”

“He grabbed my arse at a press junket.” Avery stopped. Her eyes widened. Benedict looked up from the resume, equally as stunned as her. Avery could feel the blood draining from her face. “Oh, God, did I—?” She set her cup of tea on the desk. “I-I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”

“It's all right—”

“No, _legally_ , I shouldn't have said that. I signed a non-disclosure agreement when I quit, and if he or his manager found out I told you that—”

“Avery.”

The young woman looked at Ben. It was the first time he used her name, and she liked the way it sounded on his tongue—low and drawn-out, almost a purr. He tilted his head forward and smiled at her.

“I won't tell a soul. Promise.”

Avery smiled nervously and nodded. “Right. Thank you.”

“I've never met the man myself, but he sounds like a fucking prick, anyway.” Benedict stood and walked over once more to the coffee table by the fireplace. “Biscuit?”

Avery swallowed the dryness in her throat. She felt the muscles in her back relax. “Yes, please.”

They continued the interview with more ease in the air, munching on shortbread cookies and drinking tea. Avery was finally brave enough to ask for milk and the dashing actor jumped at the chance to accommodate her. With the subject of her extensive educational background exhausted, they moved to Avery's time after university—working in public relations, scheduling interviews for talk show hosts like Tricia, her time as a personal assistant for the ghastly Carlton Briggs and the very lovely Anita Thornway from series seven of _Doctor Who_. Avery made sure to highlight her attention to detail, her almost compulsive obsession with keeping things in order, and the fact that she could leave the country at a moment's notice, no problem.

“Can I ask what happened to your last PA?” Avery asked.

She wondered, despite his courtesy, if Mr. Cumberbatch had a different side to him when the cameras were off. It was the question every personal assistant faced when prospecting for new employers—were they the kind of celebrities who threw coffee in their assistant's faces, or did they buy their PA's cars and luxury houses? Only a few celebrities were so generous, Avery was told, and so far (despite Carlton Brigg's grabby hands) she had lucked out with reasonable requests from her employers.

“My last PA was actually my niece, Emily,” Benedict said. He was standing by the window now, inspecting the weather outside with a second cup of tea in hand. “She went off to uni last month.”

“What's she studying?” Avery asked.

“Art history,” Ben replied. He paused, then turned to Avery with a brow raised. “Do you like art?”

Avery blinked. She tried to guess how this was relevant to her interview, but decided to humor him, nonetheless. “I like it well enough.”

The handsome actor grinned, then sat back down at his desk. He rummaged in the drawers and pulled out a slip of paper. “Can you be in Bristol next week?” Ben asked, scribbling on the paper with a chewed-up pen.

Avery's foot slipped and came uncrossed at the ankle. Was he asking her to be his assistant? Was this just another hypothetical question for the interview? “Yes. Can I—?”

“I'm giving you the number of my lawyer,” Benedict continued. “He'll draw up the usual rigamarole of paperwork—nondisclosure agreements about my work, personal life . . .” the actor's eyes traveled away from the paper and he mumbled to himself, lost in thought, “must ask him to make up a contract for you, as well—”

“Excuse me, please.”

Benedict stopped and looked up at Avery as if coming out of a dream.

“Sorry, but . . . does this mean I've got the job?” she asked.

Ben smiled. “If you'll have it, I'd be happy to take you in. You're more than qualified.”

For the first time in months, Avery's face burst into happiness and she sprang from her chair. She beamed at the actor, jittery with excitement to finally have a paycheck after such a spell of bad luck. “Thank you so much! I-I'd love to—I mean—” Avery say back down quickly, smoothed her skirt, and regained her professional composure. “I'm very pleased with you offer, sir.”

“Ben,” the actor said.

Avery laughed. “Ben, yes.” She stuck her hand out suddenly as if to halt him. “And what I said before, about Carlton Briggs, I assure you won't happen again.”

Benedict set his pen down, folded the paper in half, and handed it to Avery. “Don't worry, I have no intention of grabbing your arse.”

Avery chuckled, tilted her face down so he couldn't see the crimson flushing her cheeks, and nodded. “Thank you, sir—uh, Ben. Thank you so much."


	2. A Posh Bloke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery's roommate, Nani, grills her about her interview. Benedict gets a phone call from his mother.

CHAPTER 2

Before Avery could even get the key in the lock, her roommate Nani opened their flat door and screaming in her face.

“Oh. My. GAWD! Tell me everything! What's he like? Did you get the job? Tell me everything!”

Avery smirked and brushed past her friend into the apartment. Judging by the masseuse table she laid out in the living room, Nani either had a client or she and her fiance Raj had gotten frisky during his lunch break. The tiny flat was drenched in the smell of Indian cooking. Nani had been making chickpeas again.

“Well, first off, I got the job.”

Nani squealed and clapped her hands. “Of course you did, of course! When do you start?”

“Next week,” Avery responded. She set her briefcase on the faded maroon couch and took her jacket off. Nani buzzed around her like an impatient five-year-old wanting birthday cake. Avery kicked her heels off, set her feet up on the coffee table, and smiled to herself.

“So what's he like?” Nani asked, sitting next to her friend.

"He's . . . quite normal, actually.”

Avery could tell her friend wasn't satisfied by the way she crinkled her nose. Nani was normally quite a stunning person, with rich mocha skin, large brown eyes, and plump lips, but she always looked a bit plain when she pouted. Avery didn't know what else to say. It was a smooth interview, despite her skittishness, and her new boss was as kind as she had hoped. Avery decided to throw Nani a bone.

“He _is_ quite charming,” she said.

Nani grinned widely. “I knew it.” She laid back against the couch dreamily. “Is he really as tall in person? I'd climb him like a tree.”

“Nanita!” Avery laughed. “What about Raj?”

“We have an understanding.” Nani sat up and tugged on Avery's arm. “Can I meet him sometime? I could come to work with you for lunch or—”

“We'll be in Bristol,” Avery said. “I don't think your clients can handle that long without you. Speaking of which . . .” Avery turned her back to her friend and wiggled her shoulders. It was custom for Nani to give her a shoulder massage after a hard day's work, and since Avery had been unemployed for months, her back was riddled with knots.

As Nani worked Avery with her skilled hands, she sighed and said, “You're so lucky. I'd give anything to follow that man around for a day.” Nani stopped suddenly and leaned into Avery's ear. “I'm never going to see you again, am I? You'll be living the jet-set life with a celebrity, and I'll be stuck here with Raj and his cricket team making raisin _naan_.”

Avery chuckled. “I'm sure I'll have some down time. And I'll still help you with the rent, don't worry.” She moaned as Nani kneaded a kink next to her spine. “D'you know what the weirdest bit was?”

“Eh?”

“He asked me if I like art.”

Nani paused for a moment, then moved her fingers towards Avery's shoulders. “What's the word?”

“ _Art_. Why do you think he would've asked me that?”

Nani shrugged. “Dunno. He's a posh bloke. It probably matters to him.”

“Yeah . . .” Avery crinkled her brows together. Nani was probably right, except he didn't seem that haughty to her. His name and accent were posh enough, to be sure, but he was barefoot at their interview and his desk was a pig-stye. She found it hard to believe he was terribly interested in what kind of artists she preferred or whether of not she read the “right” kind of books. If he turned out to be a proper snob, Avery would turn blue in disbelief.

“C'mon,” Nani slapped her friend on the back. “Let's have a drink to celebrate.” She bounced to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of sherry and two glasses.

Avery settled into the couch and smiled up at her friend. “Got any curry left?”

“Don't push it.” Nani handed her flatmate a glass and raised her own. “To my dearest mate since uni . . . congrats on the gig, and may you find a way to shag his brains out by the time you retire.”

“Nani, please!”

“Oh, you and your bloody professionalism.” Nani pointed to her friend. “I'll let you have some curry if you at least admit he's cute.”

Avery lowered her glass carefully. Her playful smile melted. Of _course_ she thought Benedict was cute. The man was more that “cute,” he was mind-numbingly handsome—the kind of handsome that came from little girls dreaming of Prince Charming and medieval knights holding roses. He was the kind of handsome that made your teeth ache, made you want to curl into a ball and sob. And the way he looked at Avery, just during the interview like a professional, made her want to scream down the streets of Kensington. His eyes had been so focused, his mouth curled in a barely-there smile. He did everything with purpose, as if he would be disappointing someone if he didn't give the task his utmost attention. It was, Avery suspected, what made him such a bloody good actor.

“Fine,” Avery said. “He's a very good-looking man.”

“ _Obviously_.” Nani motioned her head towards the kitchen. “Have at it, then. And change your clothes, we're going out tonight.”

0000000

The phone rang sometime around eight o'clock. Benedict was sitting on the balcony outside his room reading his script when he heard it. He knew who it was, didn't even have to check the caller ID. It always rang differently when they called.

Ben pressed the phone to his ear. “Hey, Mum.”

“Hello, darling. Are you busy?”

“Not too busy for you.” He sat on the bed and rolled his shirtsleeves up, feeling sprightly. Maybe it was the evening air, the soft colors of the sunset, or the cigarette he had earlier while he scanned his lines. Whatever it was, he didn't want the feeling to go away.

“Your father wants to know if you're still coming 'round next weekend for brunch.”

Ben could practically see his mother pacing the parlor back home, touching pictures on the mantle, checking the clock, fiddling with her hair. The familiarity made him smile. “Sure, what time?”

“Eleven.” Wanda paused. “Do you remember my friend, Beverly? From my bridge club.”

“Mum, you hate bridge. Why do you insist on going?”

“Anyway, Bev has a daughter named Shirley. She's a lovely thing, just got back from Jakarta on a Greenpeace mission or some such—”

Ben held the phone away from his ear as his mother talked. She only rambled when she was nervous or excited, and judging by her tone, his mother was most definitely excited to fix him up. He loved her more than anything, but he couldn't stand another round of matchmaking, the third this year. Ben put the phone back to his ear.

“Mum—”

“—and she has a cat, but I think it got run over last week—”

“Mum, please!” He lowered his voice and calmly, “I'm not in the market for a girl right now.”

“That's not what you said in your _Esquire_ interview!” Wanda said. “A wife and kids, you said—”

“I was half _naked_ in that spread, for God's—”

“Like I've never wiped your arse before, mister. Listen.” Wanda cleared her throat. Her days as an actress were shining through now. Ben sensed a monologue coming. “You come around next week, I'll have Bev and Shirley over. We'll have a nice cup of tea, you take her on a tour of the garden, and you can go about your merry way. It's not a life sentence, darling, it's just eggs. Then, God willing, a Christmas wedding—”

Benedict laughed. “ _Mum_.”

“I'm kidding. But do think about it.”

Ben tilted the receiver away from his mouth so she wouldn't hear him sigh. “Fine. Only for you.”

“There's a boy.” The smile came back to Wanda's voice. “How was your day?”

“Good.” Benedict stood from the bed and paced his room. The sun had ducked below the buildings now and the first purple-black of night sky was peeking overhead in the east. He closed the balcony windows. “I hired a new PA today.”

“How lovely. Anyone I know?”

“No, she's new. A bit flighty, but she's good. She even took down how I like my tea.” He smiled, remembering. It was quirky and endearing. Ms. Lorris had been scrambling to make a good impression, but Ben knew the second she walked in the door that she was the one. She was his new assistant.

“I hope you bring her to brunch,” Wanda said. “Though Shirley might get the wrong idea.”

Ben rolled his eyes and chuckled. He never met a Shirley he thought was attractive—nice enough, sure, but only in a buddy sort of way. Avery, however, was a name he hadn't heard since primary school. She was a girl in class with red hair and a single freckle below her nose that called him 'Bendybutt Cucumber.' The name stuck for a month and it was only afterward that he realized she made fun of him because she fancied him.

Ben looked out the window and smiled. _Avery_. Now _that_ was an attractive woman's name. Ms. Lorris had a pretty smile and kind eyes. It made his decision to hire that much easier, not that looks were a part of the criteria, per say. He also liked her earnestness. He liked that she mucked up and told him about that wanker Carlton Briggs. He especially liked that she was fond of art. “Never trust a woman who disdains art of any kind,” his father told him. He would have to look further into it later to determine just how well she liked it.

“Darling?”

Ben blinked. He didn't realized the phone had slipped down his jaw. “Sorry, Mum.” He whirled around in a sudden knot of confusion. “Uhm, I've actually got to go now. I have about a thousand pages to look over—”

“Say no more. Don't forget about brunch, yeah?”

“Right. Give my love to Dad.”

“Will do. I love you, sweetie.”

Ben smiled. “Love you too, Mum.”

He hung up the phone slowly, his heart twisting a little. It always hurt to part with her even after a short conversation. She was his best friend and closest confidante, had been there for him every step of the way on his journey to stardom. He almost hoped Shirley would turn out to be The One so as not to break his mother's heart.

Benedict crossed the room and opened the nightstand drawer for a cigarette. He lit up and took a turn about the room, running through lines and tomorrow's to-dos and who to call in the morning. He was excited to be back in Bristol soon shooting for _Sherlock_. He missed Martin and Amanda, missed the large table and florescent lights of the writer's room. Going back felt like going to school again, lunch pail in hand and new clothes fresh from the package.

He hoped Ms. Lorris would be up for the coming task.


	3. Bristol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery has her first day on the job in Bristol with Benedict.

CHAPTER 3

Thankfully, Avery wasn't the only one on the train to Bristol with Benedict. She had stayed up all night worrying there would be awkward smalltalk and bored glances out the window—she was never very good in cramped conditions, anyway—but Mr. Cumberbatch had a small entourage with him. There was his publicist, Karon, a sweet blonde who couldn't put her phone down, Bruce the bodyguard (a stout middle-aged man with a beard who grimaced constantly), and Kenneth Fay, who introduced himself as simply “the carrier.”

Introductions were polite but curt and they were whisked away from London on a private train car. Avery wasted no time getting in the groove of her new position—she fielded calls from agents and producers, arranged Benedict's calendar for the year and scheduled interviews according to their schedule in Bristol. There was a trip to Japan in a few months to think about, not to mention all the press surrounding the new season of Sherlock.

The two-and-a-half hour ride flew by. Ben asked for very few personal favors—he was too busy chatting with Karon and looking over his script. Every so often, Avery looked up at him from across the aisle. When he met her glance, he smiled.

It was raining in Bristol. Ben flagged down a taxi as Avery struggled to carry her bags and an umbrella.

“Have Ken get that for you,” Ben said.

They were standing on the curb outside the train station. It surprised Avery that they were hailing a cab like everyone else but she didn't dare comment. She had offered Ben her umbrella but he declined politely, saying that she needed it more than him. Ken came from the station with a trolly of luggage and an umbrella. He took Avery's luggage without a word and threw them on the trolley.

“Y'all right, mate?” Ken called to Benedict through the rain.

“Fine.” A taxi pulled up and Ben opened the door. “Grab the next one. We're at the Rodney.”

Ken waved in response. Benedict slid into the cab and Avery followed. When the driver set off, Avery wiped her wet hair from her face and dug in her purse. She must have looked like hell. She found her compact and flipped it open. Her reflection in the tiny mirror was embarrassing—mascara running down her face, hair a mess, lipstick matted. She was jittery from her coffee on the train and had to pee badly.

“Sorry about all of that,” Ben said. “I try not to take hired cars into town. Draws too much attention.”

“No problem,” Avery said. She wiped under her eyes and snapped her compact shut. They were only a few hours away from London and already Avery missed Nani. On rainy days, Nani made sweetbread and cleaned the flat. Without Avery there, she was no doubt lounging in her pajamas eating jaffa cakes.

“You doing okay so far?” Benedict asked.

Avery nodded and smiled at him. “Yes, fine. Thank you.” She was fully aware that she smelled like wet dog. He, however, still had a hint of spicy cologne on his jacket collar that made Avery dizzy with desire. If there was one thing she found undeniably attractive about any man, it was a splash of good cologne. She chanced a good look at him. His black hair was dripping wet, matted to his forehead. His pale skin seemed to glow ethereally from the hazy light of the cab window. He looked out the taxi dreamily, a small grin on his face, as if he were coming home for the first time in a while.

There was a bit of down time at the hotel they were staying at before they had to be at the studio. Avery tried taking a nap but was still wired from her cappuccinos. She changed into a pair of smart slacks and a button-down shirt and let her hair down from its tight bun. A knock at her door made her jump. The bellhop came in carrying a large vase of purple and white lilies.

“These just arrived for you, ma'am,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Avery tipped the young man, saw him out, and inspected the vase. No one but Benedict and his team knew she was there, or even what her room number was. She inspected the handwritten card, butterflies dancing in her stomach.

Welcome aboard the team! The card read. Delighted to have you!

It was signed, Amanda.

Avery racked her brain. Amanda? Did she know an Amanda? Was it a writer or a producer or—

Oh. Amanda Abbington. She was Martin's wife. Martin Freeman. As in, John Watson/Bilbo Baggins/Tim Canterbury Martin Freeman. For the first time since starting this job, Avery felt starstruck. To her, Benedict was an employer, her boss, someone who gave her a paycheck to live off of. But Martin, on the other had, was a celebrity. He had his own small entourage and personal assistant and an acting resume that others would kill for. Avery prayed she wouldn't act stupid when she met him.

Avery's cell rang and she picked it up from the dresser. “This is Avery Lorris.”

“I'm feeling peckish.”

Avery stopped. Crinkled her brows. It was Benedict. How a man with such a rich, beautiful voice could sound so informal continued to baffle her. Avery smiled slightly. “Yes, sir?”

“Are you starving?” he asked. “You must be starving, you didn't eat on the train.”

“Ehm . . .” Avery glanced out the window. She could have eaten a horse arse first. “I suppose I could eat. Shall I order room service?”

“If you like,” he said. “Smoked salmon?”

“I don't eat fish.”

Ben clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “You're fired, Ms. Lorris.”

Avery laughed and pulled out a menu from her nightstand drawer. She sat on the edge of the bed. “There's steak, chops, chicken kiev . . . ooh, blueberry trifle.”

“That sounds good, doesn't it? Have two sent to my room.”

“For lunch?”

“Why not?” Ben asked. “Haven't had a trifle in ages. Meet you in five.”

Avery's smile grew. “All right. Bye.” She hung up and sat on the bed motionless for a good two minutes. Lilies. Trifle for lunch. Was it always going to be like this, or was Avery getting special treatment for her first day? She didn't know. And she didn't care.

She placed the order and made her way down the hall to Benedict's suite. Avery knocked gently and he opened with a grin, hair towel-dried and a faded t-shirt on. He was barefoot again.

“Come in,” Ben said. He closed the door behind her and ushered Avery through the large room. It had a kitchen, a bar, a small dining area, a balcony overlooking the city, and a vase of roses on the table. His clothes were still in his luggage, save for a stack of bagged suits draped over an armchair.

“Sorry for the mess—”

“Let me hang these for you,” Avery said, picking up the suits.

Benedict put his hand out as if to protest, then pointed at her approvingly. “Thank you.”

Avery too the suits by the hangers and carried them to the walk-in closet in the bedroom. She arranged them by color on the rack—Armani, Westwood, Burberry, the best—all form-fitted, crisp and ironed and ready to be worn.

“Are you sure I can't get you anything else to eat?” Avery called out from the closet. “I can pop into the shop at the corner and—”

“Sorry?”

Avery turned. Ben was in the bedroom with her just outside the closet.

“Couldn't hear,” he said. He pressed his palms together as if praying. “Would you like some tea?”

Avery gave him a look. “I'm supposed to be your assistant, sir.”

“Ben,” he corrected. “And it's just tea.”

He dashed out of the room and Avery followed, grinning. “Are you always this accommodating to your assistants?” she asked.

“Yes. Emily hated it.”

Avery chuckled and leaned against the dining room table. She eyed the roses as Benedict put the kettle on in the kitchen. “Who are the flowers from?” she asked.

“Hotel management,” he said. “They were kind enough to host us the last time we shot Sherlock. Milk, no sugar, right?”

Avery nodded. Someone knocked at the door and Avery jumped at the chance to get it. She didn't like being idle, watching her boss do things for her instead of the other way around. She led the bellhop inside with his trolley of the desserts and tipped him generously. He gave a slight bow, glanced around the corner where Benedict was, and exited quickly with a giddy step.

Avery brought the trifles to the table just as Ben was pouring the tea. He set Avery's cup in front of her, offered her a spoon, and sat opposite with his tea. Avery didn't know whether to start first, so she waited for the actor to dig in. His first bite was quick, twisting the spoon in his mouth to lick off the whipped cream. Avery realized she was staring and fished the topping off of her dish, plopping it on the delicate plate it sat on.

“What's that?” Ben asked. “What're you doing?”

Avery looked at her boss. “I don't like whipped topping.”

Benedict narrowed his eyes and pointed his spoon at her. “You're going to be trouble, Ms. Lorris.”

Avery chuckled. “No, sir.” She reached the belly of the dessert and ate greedily, her stomach gurgling.

After a beat of silence, Ben said seriously, “How has it been, though? Everyone treating you well?”

Avery smiled. “Yes, it's been lovely. You've got quite a full calendar, Mr. Cumberbatch.”

“Not a dull moment, then?”

Avery shook her head, her mouth full of berries and custard. “No sir,” she sputtered.

“Ah blah, blah?” Ben mimicked. He scooped her whipped cream from her plate and shoveled it into his mouth. He spoke with his mouth full, “Charming, really.”

Avery held a napkin over her mouth and laughed as her cheeks burned in embarrassment. Benedict laughed with her, staring at her as if she were an interesting program on TV. She was suddenly struck by how boyish he looked in this light—trifle on his chin, a simple cotton shirt that complimented his eyes, hair tousled freely. He didn't look like the sex god everyone in the media made him out to be. He looked like a man named Ben, eating trifle and drinking tea on a rainy afternoon. Simple. Easy to talk to. Avery wiped her mouth and looked away, her chest filling with effervescent bubbles.

“So first day back in a while, yeah? Are you excited?”

“Very,” Benedict said. “It'll be nice seeing everyone again.”

“Amanda sent me flowers,” Avery said. “Lilies. She seems very sweet.”

“She's the best,” Ben agreed. “Though she's got rubbish taste in men.”

Avery giggled. “I'll remind her in my thank-you card.”

Benedict smiled widely. He raked a hand through his curly hair, glanced out the window, and back at Avery. Suddenly, he didn't seem at ease or cheeky or good-natured. He suddenly seemed a bit nervous. “So, do you have a . . . your own Martin Freeman?”

Avery stopped eating and raised a brow. Was he asking her if she was single? “No,” she said. She kept eating to maintain an air of ease. “I did, I mean . . . sort of. I was with a man here in Bristol, actually. I broke it off.”

“Why?” Ben asked.

Avery chewed her dessert slowly, then swallowed. She looked into her half-empty cup and said, “He shagged my old roommate.”

Benedict's face dropped. He looked as serious as his character Sherlock when he was solving a case. His eyes darted to the window again and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Oh, um . . .” He cleared his throat and looked at Avery with a strained smile. “You know, I know a man in America who can have him killed.”

Avery dropped her spoon in her dish and laughed.

“What?” he cried. “I'm Benedict-fucking-Cumberbatch!”

“Oh yeah?” Avery giggled.

“I'm serious! I'm the Illuminati, you know—”

“Go on!”

Benedict laughed, a deep rumble from way inside his gut. They were interrupted by Avery's cell phone going off. She reached in her front pocket and pressed it to her ear. “This is Avery Lorris.”

Ben watched her talk, stirring his trifle absentmindedly. He noticed a wisp of hair out of place in front of her ear and felt the urge to brush it back. His eyes traveled from her hair to the freckles under her eyes—did she have so many when he first met her?—then to the arch of her eyebrow. She caught him looking and gave him a friendly smile. Ben blinked, a sound escaping his mouth like something between a sigh and a moan. She was quite beautiful. He hadn't noticed just how lovely she was until now.

“Right,” Avery said into the phone. “Thank you.” She hung up and pushed her dessert away. “They need you at the studio.”

Ben swallowed hard and nodded. “Good. Thank you.”

Avery stood and slung her purse over her shoulder. She looked down at her employer, who hadn't moved an inch. “Are you coming?”

Benedict snapped his eyes at Avery and nodded, scrambling to his feet. “Right, let's go.”


	4. 50 Quid Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery meets the cast and crew of Sherlock and has a pint with Martin and Amanda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for your comments/likes/views! It really means a lot to me! Please feel free to share this story on Tumblr, Twitter, or wherever. I love getting comments, they keep me going. Seriously, you guys are the best!

CHAPTER 4

 

The rehearsal room was a cold, florescent-lit area at the far end of the BBC studio. They took endless twists and turns through the hallways, riding up a lift and pushed past so many producers and writers, it made Avery dizzy. But she never fell behind, never got squeezed out or forgotten amongst the fray of important people. Avery had been in many studios like this, but the energy surrounding the first table reading of her boss was like electricity—everyone they past gave Ben a quick nod and smiling, as if wishing him luck or letting him know they were on his side.

When the fog lifted and they finally came to the room, Avery stopped in the doorway as Benedict breezed through. She stared at the faces before her, a parade of celebrities standing idly around chatting as if they were in the waiting room of a dentist's office. Avery could hardly believe how normal they all looked. Una Stubbs was at one of the tables drinking vitamin water and pursuing the script. Rupert Graves, quite dashing with a beard, was standing by the Kraft services table with Louise Brealy, who wore a charming knit hat and a tired look on her face. Then of course there was Mark Gatiss at the table opposite of Una, laughing with— _holy shit!—_ Stephen Moffat. Even though Avery had worked for a previous _Dr. Who_ companion, she never got the opportunity to meet Moffat in person.

A man came up behind Avery in the doorway and gently placed his hand on her arm. “'Scuse me, please,” he said.

When Avery finally stepped into the room and moved to the side, she saw that it was Martin Freeman. He looked chipper, a bit more circles under his eyes than in his photos, but he smiled politely. He didn't stop to chat, not when his line of sight went directly to Benedict.

Avery fell back against the wall, utterly star-struck. She watched Martin and Ben reunite sweetly—giving each other a hearty hug, a slap on the shoulder—then, as if they had never been apart, they sat next to each other at Una's table and chatted. Avery smiled.

A blonde woman came through the door wearing a white coat and a red scarf. She stopped and grinned at Avery. “Sorry, love, do I know you?”

Avery snapped her attention away from Ben and Martin and looked at the woman. This was Martin's partner, Amanda—Avery recognized her from the pictures online she had perused before coming. The actress was prettier up close, had a very natural and calming look that Avery could only describe as motherly.

“I'm Avery Lorris.” She stuck her hand out. “I'm Ben—Mr. Cumberbatch's new PA.”

“Oh, _you're_ Avery!” Amanda shook Avery's hand and smiled sweetly. “Amanda Abbington. Did you get the flowers I sent?”

“Yes, thank you—”

“Ben, you awful thing!” Amanda cried. “You left your poor PA here against the wall, where are your manners?”

Benedict jumped from the table and ran to give Amanda a hug. “Hello, gorgeous.”

Amanda kissed his cheek. Avery backed away slightly. She felt like she should have been getting coffee or taking notes or doing something useful. Without instruction she was a rudderless ship, forced to drift in a sea of television royalty. It made her anxious.

Benedict motioned for Martin to come near. He noticed Avery again and put his hand out. “Yeah, sorry, I'm Martin.”

“Avery.” She shook his hand and smiled.

“Didn't mean to brush you off just then,” he said.

“Yes you did,” Ben said.

Martin gave him a look. “I did not!” He looked at Avery and pointed to his friend. “I didn't, he's lying.”

“Don't worry, he's like that at home,” Amanda said, grinning. “He stars in _one_ Peter Jackson film and all of a sudden he's the cock of the walk.”

“Sorry, why did we hire you again?” Martin said to his partner.

Amanda laughed and shoved her husband towards the tables, leaving Avery and Ben alone by the door. She looked at him, smiling a bit too forcefully, a habit she had when she was nervous.

“Come on,” Benedict said, “I'll introduce you around.”

Avery was very pleased at herself that she managed not to piss her pants when she met Moffat and Gatiss, both of whom were very polite and sweet. Louise Brealy gave Avery a hug and complimented her necklace, but only after Ben teased her about her hat. The rest of the cast and the writers were warm and curious about Avery, but they were all peasants compared to the way Benedict introduced Una Stubbs.

Una saw them coming, took off her glasses, and stood with a teeth-baring grin. “My darling!” she cooed.

Ben gave her a long hug and a kiss on the cheek. “How are you, beautiful?”

Una touched his cheek. “You're so skinny, Ben, don't they feed you?”

Benedict laughed and motioned to Avery. “This is Ms. Lorris, my new PA. Avery, this is the sweetest woman you'll ever meet, honestly. She's a mother to all of us around here.”

“Oh, stop,” Una giggled. She took Avery's hand and squeezed it. “You're quite lovely, aren't you, dear?”

Avery smiled bashfully. She felt her cheeks redden. “Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am.”

“Please call me Una.”

Avery's nervous butterflies melted away. Una was every bit as sweet as her _Sherlock_ character, soft-spoken and kind and eager to please. Avery could see why she was a motherly figure to everyone on set—she didn't have a mean bone in her body or a nasty word to say about anyone.

“Is he eating?” Una asked. “Do get him to eat, I worry—”

“If you brought those cakes in like before, we wouldn't all be starving so.”

Una slapped Ben on the shoulder. “You bad thing!” She turned to Avery and pulled her into an embrace. “You come to me if you need anything, dear. Or if these boys give you trouble.”

Avery smiled. “Yes, ma'am.”

As they parted, Mark Gatiss stood from the table, clapped his hands together, and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen . . . and Martin.”

A wave of chuckles rippled through the room.

“Welcome to series three,” Gatiss said.

0000000

They read through the entire episode that day, taking frequent breaks to wipe their brows and nibble on sandwiches. Avery was given a script and followed along attentively, highlighting passages and making notes she thought might be useful. The episode itself was brilliant. Avery felt as though she had stepped into the show and become an extra on the sidelines, laughing when the viewers were supposed to laugh, gasping when a tense scene unfolded, and tearing up towards the end at Sherlock and John's much-awaited reunion.

During breaks, Avery answered e-mails and phone calls, typical work that Ben let her get to. He was quite busy himself, catching up with Martin and Amanda, teasing Una and Louise, taking pictures of himself with the cast to post on Twitter. Every so often, he turned his head and looked back at her with a smile, asking Avery how she was doing. She always answered with a “fine” and “can I get you anything?”

When the reading was over, Avery took her laptop to the lobby to answer e-mails while Benedict stayed in the room and chatted with his cast members. She cleared his calendar for the upcoming weekend and arranged his travel plans for upcoming overseas tours. Nani had sent her an e-mail asking how her first day was going, and Avery answered back simply, _**AMAZING**_.

As the lobby filled with people making an exodus from the reading, Avery put her computer away and stood when she saw her boss walking with Martin and Amanda. She had her cell in hand, ready to call for a taxi to take them back to the hotel.

Benedict waved at her from across the room. She weaved through the throng of people and met him by the staircase.

“We're going for a pint,” Ben said, “care to join us?”

Avery blinked. “Me?”

“I _can't_ be the only bird there!” Amanda groaned. “Please come, it'll be a laugh.”

“Um . . .” Avery looked at Amanda and Martin, then back at Ben. “You sure it's all right?”

Benedict smiled in a way that made her think it was more than all right. It was the smile of someone who had had a long day and needed to wind down, the smile of someone hopeful that another person could brighten them up even the slightest. Avery used to give that same smile to Nani many nights when she worked for Carlton Briggs.

“I'll buy the first round,” Ben said.

Avery stuffed her cell phone in her purse, hitched her laptop bag over her shoulder, and nodded. “All right, then. If you're buying.”

0000000

The pub they went to didn't have a special VIP place for them, nor did they have bouncers or police gates or any other fanfare reserved for other celebrities. It was just a small, comfortable pub in St. Philips that had a footie game on the television, wood paneling, and a coat of arms on the wall behind the bar. A few of the patrons stopped and stared when they saw Ben and his crew walk in, but no one bothered them for an autograph or a sneaky photo. To the unknowing eye, it was as if Benedict and Martin were just regular mates having a pint with their significant others.

The trio got a round of Guinness and sat at a table in the corner by the jukebox. Avery shifted uncomfortably in her chair, clutching her purse strap and waiting for some rabid fan to stumble up to the and ruin their evening. But the men of the pub were too interested in the football game to notice and the women were too busy trying in vain to pick them up.

Amanda must have picked up on Avery's hesitancy because she leaned in and said, “Where are you from, Avery?”

“London,” Avery said. “But my dad's in Portsmouth now.”

“What about your mum?”

Avery looked at Martin and Ben, who were listening in on the conversation between sips of beer. “She died when I was young.”

Amanda's face softened. “I'm so sorry.”

Avery pursed her lips. She would not ruin this night with her sob story—a poor motherless girl whose dad worked on the docks while they stayed in government housing until she got a scholarship to go to college. This was not a night for people—celebrities, much less—to feel sorry for her.

“I have a picture of her,” Avery said,brightening. “Would you like to see?”

Amanda nodded. Avery dug in her purse and pulled out her wallet. She slipped the photo from the fold and handed it to Amanda. It was taken when her mother was pregnant with her, standing in front of their house in London with permed hair and large hoop earrings. “She's beautiful,” Amanda said. “Is that you?” She pointed to the woman's swollen belly.

Avery nodded and smiled. Martin leaned over his partner and looked at the photo. He whistled. “She's stunning. You look just like her.”

Avery blushed. She got that a lot from her mother's friends. Everyone said she had Tori's pouty lips and small chin, though Avery wondered if she had inherited her penchant for being ruthlessly organized. God knows her father couldn’t organize his sock drawer without mucking it up. Avery put the photo back in her wallet and cleared her throat.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Ben asked.

Avery looked at him. “No, just me and dad.”

“Want mine?” Martin asked.

Avery and Ben laughed. “You have children, yeah?” Avery asked.

Martin wasted no time whipping out his cell phone and showing her pictures of his children. They were perfect miniatures of him with angelic grins and sandy blond hair.

“Oh, they're adorable!” Avery laughed.

Martin beamed proudly. “It's all Amanda. They've got her good looks and my foot-in-mouth disease. Cheeky buggers.”

They scrolled to a picture of Benedict holding the youngest, Grace, while the oldest, Joe, was on his back. Avery chuckled. “That's so sweet.”

“They love their uncle Ben,” Amanda said.

“Only because I let them have sweeties for dinner,” Ben said, taking a drink from his pint. He gave Amanda a wink through the glass.

Martin kept scrolling and there were more pictures of Ben with the children, reading them stories in bed and playing the the garden, eating dinner and making silly faces with Martin. Avery's smile grew and she felt herself relax. She looked at Ben and he was watching the slide show as well, smiling bashfully with so much love in his eyes for the kids, Avery thought she saw him tearing up a bit.

“You're so good with them,” she said softly.

“They're good kids,” he responded. “I hope mine are half as lovely.”

Avery shared a smile with Ben. He didn't look away at first, merely held his pint close to his lips and stared at Avery as though she were emitting a warm glow. It made her insides become unglued to be gazed at by such a handsome man, as ordinary as he looked in the pub. He had looked at her like this once before, earlier today when they were having trifle for lunch. Avery had chucked it off as him being thrilled to be back in Bristol for filming, but now that the excitement of the day was over, she wondered what he could have possibly been thinking to be so happy to see her.

Aver broke their eye contact, a hot flash slapping her body, and drank from her glass of beer to look busy. She watched Martin and Amanda together, a disgustingly cute couple if she ever saw one. He dotted on her by making sure her glass was always filled and stroked the back of her neck as she chatted with Ben. She, in turn, laughed heartily when he whispered in her ear and kissed his cheek as a reward for being so clever.

After her second glass of Guinness, Martin poured his remaining drink in her mug and she shook her head. “Darling, what're you doing? I'll be sick!”

“A lightweight, this one,” Martin said to Avery. “That's how I convinced her to bare my children. She was sloshed on half a wine cooler and all I had to do was dance with my trousers down. Boom! Pregnant.”

Avery almost snorted beer out of her nose. Ben took the nearly empty pitcher of beer and pointed it towards Amanda. “Here, love, let's keep this going.”

Amanda shook her head and laughed. “You _both_ will be carrying my sorry arse home.”

“Naw, that's Avery's job,” Martin said. “Run errands, take calls, drag cockeyed women through the streets by their ankles—”

“I'll need a raise, boss,” Avery said to Ben.

The table erupted in laughter. Avery drank the last of her pint, stood, and pointed to the table of buzzed celebrities. “Next round's on me.”

As she left for the bar, the laughter subsided and Ben sat back in his chair. Amanda slipped her arm around Martin's and said, “She's fantastic.”

Ben smiled. “Yeah, she's . . . pretty good.” He glanced over his shoulder and watched as Avery placed another order of beers. He smiled, looked down thoughtfully, then turned back to his friends. “She's a good fit, don't you think?”

Martin agreed but Amanda only smiled wider. She was thinking something devious, Ben could see the wheels turning in her head, and before he could give her the chance to say it out loud, he stood from the table. “I'm dying for the loo. Be back.”

When Benedict was out of ear shot, Amanda slapped her husband's shoulder. He jumped. “Oi! What's that for?”

“He fancies her!” Amanda whispered.

“Who?”

“Ben! He fancies Avery!”

Martin gave his partner a look. “No he doesn't.”

“Yes, he does—”

“He doesn't—”

“He bloody does!” Amanda said. “Listen, I saw the way he looked at her just now. He's completely smitten.”

“Why do you do this?” Martin asked. “Every time he meets a girl with a pulse, you automatically assume he's in love.”

“Why shouldn't he be?” Amanda argued. “She's gorgeous and smart and incredibly sweet—”

“Then _you_ date her!”

“Twenty quid says I'm right,” Amanda said.

Martin raised his brows at his lovely, surly partner. “You wanna bet on Benedict's love life?”

Amanda looked across the bar and saw Avery coming with another pitcher of beer. “Thirty quid.”

“This is madness,” Martin said. “He doesn't fancy—”

“Hey, all,” Avery said, setting the pitcher on the table. “What did I miss?”

Martin looked at her, then his girlfriend, then back at Avery. “We're just, uh . . . betting on the footie game.” He tipped his head to Amanda. “You sure about this?”

Amanda smiled and nodded. Martin stuck his hand out. “All right,” he said. “Fifty quid if I'm right.”

“Deal.” Amanda shook his hand.

“Who's playing today?” Avery asked.

Martin and Amanda looked at her. “Eh?” they asked.

“The football game,” Avery said, pointing to the TV. “Which team?”

Martin opened his mouth to speak. It was a commercial on TV and he couldn't see that far anyway. He looked at his partner for help but she seemed equally as lost. He turned his mouth into a grin instead and said, “So you're, what, an Aries or . . . ?”

Avery smiled slowly. They were being weird. Maybe drunk. Maybe both. “Pisces, actually.”

“Hm. Interesting,” Amanda said. She turned to her husband. “Darling, did you know Benedict is a Cancer? That's quite compatible with Pisces, if I remember—”

“Oh, I don't believe in astrology,” Avery said.

“Neither do I,” Martin said. He looked at his wife with a frown. “It's rubbish, if you ask me.”

Benedict appeared from around the corner and Martin and Amanda straightened up in their chairs. He looked at both of them, sensing the same thing Avery did. They were acting funny. “Did I miss anything?”

“I got Barclay's, is that all right?” Avery said, pouring Ben a glass.

He smiled at her. “It's my favorite, actually.”

Amanda nudged Martin and he put his hand on her knee to keep her still. Suddenly, it was as if the two had disappeared from the pub and only Avery and Benedict were there, chatting incessantly about lagers and their favorite complementary dinner. Martin and Amanda watched them volley the conversation back and forth, an edge-of-their-seat spectacle.

“If you're going to eat quail, you must get it at the Brownberry in Essex,” Ben said. “No exceptions.”

“What, you eat something other than trifle for lunch?” Avery teased.

“No, of course not. There's also pudding, strawberry cake, chocolate oranges—”

Avery laughed. “Remind me to schedule a dentist for you in between shoots.”

“Erm, no,” he said. “These teeth are impeccable, see?” He gave her a tooth-baring grin.

“Yes, you have a very nice smile,” Avery said. Just as she said it, she wished she could take it back. Not because it wasn't true, but because it sounded dangerously close to flirting. But he was a well-praised man, especially about his looks, so he had to have been used to it by now. Still, Avery drank her beer and looked away, embarrassed. When she snuck a peek at Ben, he was still looking at her with that dizzying, gut-melting stare. “What?”she asked. “What is it?”

Ben blinked and shook his head. “Uh, nothing. You . . . you have a nice smile, as well.”

Avery grinned. Her skin was made of fire and her insides had turned to boiled custard. She could feel herself blushing and took another sip of beer to mask her giddiness. Bloody hell, if he continued to look at her like that, she would have to go back to the hotel room and take a cold shower for days.

Martin looked at Amanda. She smiled at him smugly.

“Bollocks.”

Martin took a fifty out of his billfold and slapped it in his wife's hand.


	5. The Swindon Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict takes Avery to Swindon to meet his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be doing homework. But I'm totally not. If I fail my classes, I'm blaming all of you! ;)  
> As always, thanks for sticking around, guys. This story is a slow burn, but I'm having so much fun writing it. Thanks for reading and commenting!

A truck whizzed by on the freeway and Avery put her finger in her ear to hear her friend better on the mobile. “Sorry,” Nani cried, “You’re _where_?”

“I’m at a petrol station a few miles outside of Swindon,” Avery said. She leaned against the sporty black Porsche, then straightened up when she realized her dress might dirty it up.

“What on earth are you doing out _there_?”

“Brunch with the family,” Avery laughed.

“ _His_ family?” Nani was acting like a five year old who couldn’t understand the basics of a conversation. “Is there something else I should know?”

“It’s just brunch. He takes all his PA’s to meet his family. Standard stuff, Nan.” Avery glanced over her shoulder. Ben was just coming out of the petrol station with two water bottles. He was dressed down for the day in a simple white button-down and blue jeans. Ever the pilot of his car, which he called “Baby,” he wore a pair of aviators that mirrored Avery as he approached.

“I’ve gotta go, Nani. I’ll call you later.”

“But—”

Avery clicked her phone off just as Benedict stood before her. He held out the water bottle with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Thank you. You should have let me get it.”

“It’s just water,” he said, rounding the car to the driver’s side. “But on the way back, you’re responsible for nibbles. No arguments.”

Avery laughed and hopped in the passenger’s seat. “Got it.”

They pulled back on the M4 and continued eastward towards Swindon. Avery fidgeted in her seat and opened the water. It wasn’t for her, but for the bouquet of daffodils she had gotten for Benedict’s mother, Wanda. She sprinkled a little on the petals and let the water run down into the plastic casing, fully aware that one missed drop could ruin the Porches’ leather interior. But Ben didn’t seem concerned.

“Who was on the phone just then?” he asked.

“My friend, Nani. She wanted me to come visit her this weekend, but I told her I had plans.”

“What, tea with doddering simpletons? How ever did you decide?”

Avery chuckled. “I’m quite excited, actually. I’ve never been to Swindon.”

“It’s lovely this time of year. Mum’s hyacinths are probably blooming.”

Avery nodded and looked out the window as they cruised along the freeway. Her blackberry buzzed in her clutch and she scrambled to get it.

“Ay, no work today,” Ben said. “If my mum found out you were answering calls, she’d kill me.”

“Just let me get this one,” Avery said. “It might be your agent.”

Benedict surprised Avery by plucking the phone from her hand and tossing it in the back seat. “My agent knows where we are. I can call her back tomorrow.” He glanced at Avery. “Trying to keep busy?”

Avery wrung her hands. “Just a bit nervous,” she admitted. Though she didn’t know why. She read that his parents were very down-to-earth, even after their time in the spotlight. Avery researched as much as she could about them before they left Bristol, worried that conversation might lag and she would have nothing to talk to them about.

Owls. Wanda liked owls. Timothy was an avid reader. But what else? How did they take their tea? What if they dressed in pearls and cufflinks for Saturday brunch?

Avery cleared her throat and changed the topic to keep her mind off of it. “So who’s this woman your mum’s setting you up with?”

“Dunno,” Ben said, switching lanes. “Daughter of a friend. I expect we’ll have _loads_ to talk about,” he mumbled sarcastically. There was an edge in his voice that suggested he didn’t like set-ups, especially this one.

“What’s your type, anyway?” Avery asked. She didn’t mean to be nosy, she just wanted to fill the silence and not worry about whether her cream sundress and simple fishtail braid was enough for the occasion.

Ben shrugged. “Don’t much have a type. Don’t have the time these days, anyway.”

“Okay, but if you _had_ to choose. Describe your perfect girl.”

Ben smiled at her briefly before settling his eyes back on the road. “You’re worse than Graham Norton.”

“And far less fabulous,” Avery said.

Benedict laughed and said, “Right, tell you what—I’ll tell you what I look for in a woman, and you tell me what you look for in a man. We’ll go back and forth.”

“All right.” Avery settled into her seat.

“Okay . . .” Ben paused, his eyes searching the road as he thought. “Nice smile.”

“Obviously,” Avery agreed. “Well-educated.”

“Agreed. Um . . . nice sense of humor.”

“But not childish,” Avery said. “He’s got to know when to be serious.”

“Okay. She has to like sports, that’s a must.”

“What, like football? Nah, give me a man who likes to sleep in on the weekends and visit the Gallery.”

“Ah, you like those pretentious types, eh?” Ben teased.

“Says the man who fancies Sporty Spice!” Avery cried. “What, does she have to be a rugby player to get your attention?”

“No, of course not. She just has to want to jump out of an airplane or surf a tidal wave at a moment’s notice.”

Avery threw her head back and laughed. Ben smiled, proud of his witticism. They exited the freeway onto Great Western Way and made their way into the township.

“Blonds or brunettes?” he asked.

Avery crinkled her nose. “I quite fancy gingers these days, actually.”

Benedict chuckled. He shook his head slightly, that handsome smile stuck on his face.

“What?” Avery asked.

“I’m naturally a ginger, you know.”

Avery smiled and rolled her eyes. He was being terribly cheeky. “Yes, I know. How lucky for you.”

They passed through the town to the outskirts where a small, quaint cottage sat on a hill a few lawns down from a gorgeous mansion. Avery knew that the mansion belonged to another celebrity and was thankful for it—she couldn’t bear the thought of having to hand her coat over to a butler or use the correct butter knife at tea.

The wrought-iron gate opened and they rode up the driveway, parking next to a vintage Rolls Royce and an out-of-place Mini Coop. As soon as Ben turned the engine off, the front door opened and a lovely older woman with ash-blond hair greeted them with a wave. Avery exited with the flowers and stood awkwardly against the car as Ben moved around to meet his mother.

“Heya, Mum,” he said, pulling her into a tight embrace. He kissed her cheek and she laughed.

“Darling, I’m so happy you could come!” She released him from her arms. “How was the drive? Was traffic bad?”

“It was fine.” Benedict looked over his shoulder and motioned for Avery to come near. “Mum, this is my new PA, Avery Lorris.”

Avery stuck her hand out and smiled. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Ventham.”

“Please call me Wanda,” she said, shaking Avery’s hand. “Are those for me?” Wanda pointed to the flowers. She took them without waiting for Avery to answer. “Lovely! Thank you, darling. Let’s go inside, I’ve just put the kettle on—” She led Avery inside arm-in-arm without stopping to talk. Benedict followed closely. “The roast still has a few minutes, but we’ve got finger sandwiches.”

The cottage was small enough for Wanda to call out to her husband in the garden out back. “Your son is here!” she yelled. Wanda turned to Avery and gave her a hug. “I’m so happy to meet you, dear. I’ll put these in water. Tim, darling!”

Benedict’s mother was a force to be reckoned with—strikingly beautiful, in full command of the room—with the same piercing blue eyes as her son. Ben’s father, Timothy, entered the house from the back door. He wore a smart cardigan and a wool cap, the same high cheekbones Benedict was known for and a sweet smile. Avery had watched clips of him in _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ and it was striking how similar he was to his son. If Benedict aged even half as gracefully as his father, Avery thought, he would do more than all right.

Timothy smiled at Avery and extended his hand. “Hello, then. You’re Avery?”

She smiled. “Yes. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“I’ll get you a drink,” he said. “Do you care for scotch? Hello, Benny.”

“Nice of you to notice, dad,” Benedict said playfully. “Can I get one, too?”

“You know where it is,” Tim said to his son, reaching in the liquor cabinet. “Come over here and help me so I can say hello.”

Ben gave his gather a hug and a hearty slap on the back. The cottage may have been cozy, but they were both so bloody tall side-by-side that their heads almost touched the ceiling. Avery stood in the dining room watching them, hardly knowing what else to do, then went to the adjoining kitchen.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked. Wanda was buzzing about the kitchen, cutting vegetables and checking the roast in the oven.

“God, no!” Wanda exclaimed. “You get that drink from my husband and make yourself at home. Our other guests are in the patio out back. Did Ben give you a tour of the house? Ask him to give you a tour of the house.”

Avery chuckled. The woman’s tenacity was endearing. “If you need help, just holler.” She left the kitchen for the dining room once more and Benedict’s father had the drink ready for her.

“Here you are, dear. Shall we adjourn to the garden?”

Avery smiled and took the drink. Ben was still working on his in front of the liquor cabinet. She took a sip and scrunched her face. Avery swallowed it, the scotch coursing down her throat like fire. It was strong and tasted exactly as old as Timothy was, but Avery was determined to drink it all.

“Lovely, thank you,” she squeaked out.

Timothy led Avery to the patio out back. At a table where the tea was set up, two ladies sat beside each other, one older with streaks of gray in her rusty hair, the other younger with a round face and jet-black hair. “This is Wanda’s friend, Beverly Denner, and her daughter, Shirley.”

“Hello.” Avery smiled at them. “I’m—”

Shirley stood suddenly, her face in shock. “Oh, hello!” she cried to the person behind Avery.

Avery turned and saw Benedict had joined them in the garden. She stepped aside so he could introduce himself properly, but Shirley was already on the prowl. She stood from the patio table and made her way to the celebrity.

“I’m Shirley Denner,” she said to Ben. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She shook his hand without having him present it and stared at him as though he were made of solid gold. “You’re quite tall!” she exclaimed.

Avery snorted a laugh in her drink. She recognized a star-struck girl when she saw it, mostly because Avery was probably as much of a gob when she met Benedict for the first time. She didn’t blame Shirley for being so smitten—he was positively gorgeous in the afternoon light.

“Pleasure,” Ben said, shaking her hand. “Is there room for me at the table?”

0000000

Because Benedict was tasked to entertain Shirley and her mum, Timothy gave Avery a tour of the cottage. It should have only taken a minute, given its size, but he took his time pointing out all the photos of Ben on the wall and the books covering every possible surface.

“He’s not working you ragged, I hope?” Tim asked as they entered Benedict’s old room.

“No, he’s a wonderful boss. I feel very lucky to be part of his team.” Avery stopped and looked around the moderately-sized room. It was warm and charming, with floral wallpaper and pictures from Benedict’s uni days on the wall. Wanda had put a few of her stuffed owls from her collection in the room. They perched precariously on the nightstand, dresser, and window ledge. “Did he sleep with the owls watching him?” Avery asked.

“No, no. My wife just needed a place to put them. A bit alarming at first, eh?”

Avery smiled. “It’s sweet. I wish I was as passionate about something.” She took a turn about the room, admiring the pictures on the wall and the view of the garden from the window. She turned to Timothy and said, “You have a beautiful home.”

The old man smiled. He sipped his drink and pointed to her curiously. “You remind me of an actress I used to work with. She had a voice just like yours—very pleasant.”

Avery giggled. Maybe it was the hard scotch he had given her, but Avery felt very comfortable in his presence.  “Thank you.” She sat on the edge of the old bed. “I must ask—what was it like working with Sir Ian McKellan?”

Timothy brightened and held up his drink in salute. “Wonderful man. Brilliant actor. He gave me some of the best acting advice I’ve ever gotten.”

“What was that?”

“Never drink milk before a big monologue.”

Avery burst out laughing. She put a hand over her mouth, feeling quite buzzed and happy and warm from the scotch. She still had a quarter of it left and downed the rest in a full gulp. No one could tell her she wasn’t polite.

Someone knocked on the doorframe. Wanda stood behind her husband. “There you are,” she said. “Lunch is nearly ready, why don’t you join the others outside?”

“Thanks, darling.” Timothy gave his wife a peck on the cheek as he exited the room. The two were sickeningly sweet, even after almost forty years of marriage.

Avery followed them downstairs, careful not to trip as everything was suddenly tilted slightly to the left, and made it to the garden without a hitch. Benedict as still at the patio table with Shirley. She hung on his every word like a puppy, nodding and smiling and laughing as he talked about even the most mundane things, like the drive into town. Shirley’s mother, Bev, nursed her glass of wine and only talked to Wanda.

Avery sat next to Benedict at the table. Timothy was at the head and Wanda ducked back inside to get the roast. Benedict glanced at Avery, his polite smile wavering just slightly.

“Tell me more about Tibet,” Shirley sighed. “I bet it’s lovely up in those mountains.”

“It was amazing,” Benedict said. “The monastery was completely closed off. The children were so spirited and had these _amazing_ insights into life that we don’t even—”

“Did you ski?” Shirley asked.

Benedict blinked at her. “Ski?”

“Down the mountains. My cousin went there a few years ago, he said the altitude was perfect for—”

“Do _you_ ski?” Avery asked. She hadn’t meant to interrupt. It must have been the drink that made her so brash, because even Ben looked at her in surprise.

“No, I’m not much of a sporty girl,” Shirley said. She looked at Ben. “But I love to travel!”

Avery groaned inwardly. Shirley was trying too hard to be accommodating, wasn’t even subtle about batting her eyelashes or touching his arm playfully. Avery didn’t know why, but she had an urge to take a frosted biscuit and throw it in Shirley’s raven hair.

Instead, Avery poured a cup of tea and added two sugars and a dash of milk. She slid it over to Ben and he gave her a disapproving look. “What?” she asked innocently. “It’s just tea.”

He smiled and thanked her. Shirley glared at Avery and patted Benedict’s arm to get his attention again. Avery made herself a cup and slumped in her chair. She noticed Timothy looking at her strangely, with a knowing smile on his face and a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

“I’ll go see how Wanda’s doing.” He left the table, giving Avery a wink.

“So, where did you get you degree?” Benedict asked Shirley.

“Oh, I don’t have one,” she said.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No, I mean—I went to uni, I just didn’t finish. Got on academic probation and never bothered to return.” Shirley shrugged. “But I’m doing just fine at the shop.”

 _Strike two_ , Avery thought, smiling to herself. It wasn’t like her to be so vindictive, but there was something about Shirley that Avery couldn’t help dislike. How could Ben’s mother think she would be a good fit for him? She was pretty enough, but other than her utter adoration of Benedict, Shirley had nothing else going for her. _Why am I being such a jealous cow?_ Avery thought.

Wanda and her husband returned from inside with the pot roast and a few dishes of veggies. Timothy helped load people’s plates and Wanda filled their tea cups. She sat next to Bev and the two were lost in conversation. Avery was able to talk with Timothy as she ate, ignoring Shirley and her dull stories of working at Marks and Spencer.

Halfway through brunch, Shirley said to Avery, “Tell us about yourself, Annie. It must be exciting working for Benedict.”

“It’s Avery, actually. And it’s been very nice so far.”

“No unreasonable demands?” Wanda asked.

Avery laughed. “No, I’m afraid not. Although, there was that one lunch of trifle that we ate.”

“You Judas!” Benedict exclaimed with a smile.

“He’s always had a sweet tooth,” Timothy said, “even as a child.”

“It’s a wonder he wasn’t a rolly-polly little bugger,” Wanda chimed.

“Mum, _please_ ,” Ben groaned.

Avery laughed. She liked seeing this side of her boss—a normal man who was just as embarrassed by his family as everyone else. If anyone had the right to make him humble, it was his mum and dad. And they were damn good at it. Avery caught Shirley looking at her with those sharp green eyes, eyes that sized everyone around her as competition, even Benedict’s own mum.

“It must be hard,” Shirley said, “working such long hours. Doesn’t leave much time for a boyfriend, eh?”

Avery smiled weakly. “No, not really.”

Timothy came to the rescue by saying, “A beautiful girl like you? That’s unbelievable!”

Avery blushed. “Wanda, your husband is being fresh with me.”

Wanda smiled and rolled her eyes. “Isn’t he charming? That’s where Ben gets it.” She leaned over and gave her husband a kiss on the head. He patted her arm lovingly.

Avery stared at them, smitten by their devotion. Suddenly, Ben leaned in and whispered, “He’s right, you know. I’m _very_ charming.”

Avery giggled and turned her head to him. Their faces were mere inches apart, his breath minty from the tea, his eyes dazzlingly blue-green in the light. He opened his mouth to say something else, when Shirley interrupted.

“Avery, can you run inside and fix me a drink?”

Avery and Benedict looked at Shirley. She wasn’t joking. She smiled sweetly and pouted a little. “Please, dear?”

Avery glanced at Ben, then back at Shirley.

“Avery’s got the day off,” Benedict said to Shirley.

“But she made your tea,” Shirley said. “It’s just one drink.”

Avery’s face burned. She knew Shirley was sending a message— _you’re still just the hired help_ —and damn if she wasn’t sneaky about it.

Timothy started to get up and said, “I’ll make you one.”

Avery shot to her feet. “No, it’s all right. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t have—” Ben began.

“It’s fine! I’d love to help. Bev, can I freshen up your drink?"

Beverly held up her empty wine glass. “Pinot, dearest. Cheers.”

Avery looked down at her boss. “Can I get you anything, sir?” Right as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. The look on his face said it all— _this isn’t you, what are you doing?_ She was better than “sir’s” and taking stranger’s drink orders, but in this moment she felt as insignificant as a waitress in a fancy hotel.

Ben glanced at Shirley, then back at Avery. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Avery nodded and looked at Shirley, who was grinning smugly. She turned and headed into the house to get the drinks, the weight of her station nearly breaking her back as everyone, save for Benedict, resumed talking and laughing in the garden like an assembly of kings and queens.

 


	6. Charlie McCougher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery has a run-in with her ex.

 

They pulled onto the M4 at about 5:30pm. Avery was silent, the bitter taste of Shirley's social jab still in her mouth. At least Wanda and Timothy were wonderful people. It could have been a perfect day if Shirley hadn't insisted on embarrassing Avery. She looked at Benedict. He was also silent, his eyes contemplating something as they drove. The sky was becoming overcast--rain was predicted in Bristol by the time they got back.  
  
Finally, Ben spoke. "I'm sorry about Shirley. She shouldn't have acted that way towards you."  
  
Avery looked down at her lap, then forced a smile and shrugged. "She didn't act any certain way. I thought she was . . . nice."  
  
Ben shot a look at her. " _Really_?" he asked.  
  
Avery pursed her lips and looked at him. "No," she admitted. "I mean, she's lovely and everything, but I'm not sure she's a right match for . . ." Avery stopped touched her forehead. "I'm sorry, it's not my place."  
  
"No, you're right," Benedict said. "She is lovely, but there's not much there in the way of compatibility."  
  
" _Right_?" Avery cried. "Skiing in Tibet? What was that about?"  
  
Ben laughed. The mood was finally lifted and he softened his tight grasp on the wheel. "How about her mum, Bev? She was more sloshed than you."  
  
"I wasn't sloshed!" Avery laughed.  
  
"My dad makes strong drinks. I don't fault you for it." He paused, then said, "They like you, y'know."  
  
"Who?" Avery asked.  
  
"My parents. Dad hugged before we left and said, 'she's a keeper, that one.'"  
  
Avery smiled, her cheeks reddening. She was worried she had made a mug of herself, prattling on about Sir Ian McKellan and Oxford and _Dr. Who_ with Wanda. Thankfully, the Ventham-Carlton-Cumberbatch's didn't seem like the judicious type. Avery tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said, "They're wonderful people. You're very lucky to have grown up with them."  
  
Benedict looked at his assistant and smiled. "I know."  
  
0000000  
  
Weeks went by. Filming was fully under way and without a hitch. People lined up behind police barricades on outdoor shoots to get a glimpse of Benedict, Martin, and any other celebrity who happened to be within the shot. Ben always waved graciously at his fans and even allowed a few pictures with them between takes. Martin and Amanda mucked about, tormenting poor Una. But the old pro gave it right back to them and they always hugged it out. Avery kept her distance, making calls and booking reservations. Sometimes she joined Benedict and Martin on their outings around town. Most times she stayed in her hotel room and worked late into the night, calling Nani when she could and dropping a line to her dad in Portsmouth.  
  
At the end of July, Avery was doing a coffee run for a few of the cast members. They had their own PA's, but Avery was the fastest at fetching beverages, and she liked getting away from the set for a few minutes by herself. Avery balanced four tall lattes in a holder, her bag in her other hand and shoulder pressed to her ear to hold the phone while she talked to a photographer for _GQ_. She exited the Starbucks and made a sharp left around the corner.  
  
"I know you have a deadline," Avery said into the phone. "My client has deadlines, himself. You think you're the only magazine within a hundred yards to want a spread?"  
  
The photographer started yelling, then pleading, then crying. This was Avery's favorite part of the job.  
  
"Look, I can get you half an hour in two weeks, but that's the best I can do."

The photographer agreed. Avery smiled to herself, reveling in her win. It was small things like this that kept her going. “All right, I’ll call you tomorrow at—”

Suddenly, Avery was stopped in her tracks by a brick wall. She stumbled backwards, spilling coffee on her smart white blouse. She dropped her cell phone and it crashed to the pavement into pieces. “Bloody fucking fuck!” She yelled.

The brick wall, which was actually a very tall man in an Armani suit, held his hands up. “Sorry! Sorry, love!”

Avery pawed at her wet shirt and tore it off to keep the hot liquid from burning her skin. Luckily, she wore a laced cami underneath. “Watch where you’re—”

Avery stopped. She dropped the rest of the coffees on the ground. The man standing before her smiled widely and held out his arms as if wanting to give her a giant embrace. “Aves!” he yelled.

Avery stared, her mouth flying open. Charlie McCougher. Same stout build, same slicked-back hair and strong jaw. He looked exactly the same as when she left him at the café in Bristol two years ago, though he wasn’t nearly as smug-faced or slouchy.

“Charlie. What’re you—?”

Charlie pulled Avery into a tight hug. “What a fantastic surprise!” He released her and eyed her up and down. “Bloody hell, you look like shit.”

Avery opened her mouth to tell him to fuck off, to scream all of the anger out of her lungs, but what came out instead was a confused whimper. Even after two years of rehearsing what she would say to her ex, his mere presence humbled her into submission.

Charlie smiled and looked down at the spilled coffee on the sidewalk. “What a mess. Can I buy you more?”

Finally, Avery was able to speak. “No! I mean—no thank you. I should be going.” She brushed past him, her knees shaking, but he took her arm and spun her around.

“Wait a minute, Aves! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“You slept with my flatmate, Charlie!” Avery yelled. “What was I supposed to do, send you a bloody postcard?”

Charlie narrowed his brown eyes at her, that obnoxious, know-it-all smile still on his face. “You’re not still mad about that, eh? That’s ancient history! Tess and I broke it off after two months, anyway—”

“Aw, let me break out my tiny violin!” Avery turned away sharply and headed back down the sidewalk. Charlie followed closely.

“There’s a reason we bumped into each other,” he said.

“Go away,” Avery snapped.

“It’s fate! I knew you’d come back to Bristol!”

Avery whipped around and halted Charlie. “I am here for _work_. If you think for a second that I—”

“You’re not still working for that Carlton wanker, are you?”

Avery glared at her ex. “No. Still working at Daddy’s firm? Or did you manage to spend all that money, as well?”

Charlie laughed. “You’ve changed, Aves. I like it.”

Avery turned and continued walking. “Piss off,” she said.

“C’mon, Aves!” Charlie called, chasing after her. “I feel dreadful for what I done. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret it.”

Avery stopped. Turned slowly. She never knew Charlie to apologize for anything in his life. All his shortcomings were everyone else’s fault—Avery didn’t spend enough time with him, so he cheated. His father put too much pressure on him, so he let the company go bankrupt.  And so on. But for all his pride and selfishness, he sounded truly regretful now. Avery stared at him, trying to uncover any hint of sarcasm or deceit. But he only frowned, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.

Avery crossed her arms and said, “What else, then?”

“I’m a twat,” he admitted. “I haven’t had a proper relationship since you left me.”

Avery looked down at his shoes. “Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you?” The awful thing was, though—she did.

“Naw. But maybe you can give me a chance to start again.” He held up his hands. “As friends. Just friends.”

Avery raised her hooded gaze to him. “I dunno, Charlie . . .”

“C’mon, what do you want me to do? I’ll dance like a monkey. Shall I?” Charlie put his hands under his armpits and pranced in a circle making ape noises. A few people on the sidewalk stopped to stare.

“Quit it!” Avery laughed. “C’mon, stop!”

Charlie straightened and looked at Avery with a hopeful smile. “C’mon, Aves. One drink with me tonight. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll never bother you again.”

Avery sighed. A part of her wanted to say no, to spit in his face and finally have the last say. But another part of her wanted closure, a proper apology. She wanted to see Charlie on his knees, begging for her forgiveness. It was too tempting an image to brush off.

“Fine,” she said. “One drink.”

“Lovely.” Charlie leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’ll meet you at the King's Arms around eight.”

0000000

When Avery got back to the set, everyone stared at her as she walked by.  She sat in her usual chair under the awning and buried her face in her hands. Amanda, having seen the state of her, went up to Avery and put her hand on her shoulder. “You all right, love? What happened?”

Avery looked up at the gorgeous blonde. “I need a new shirt. And a new phone. And a bloody backbone.”

“Christ, were you mugged?” Amanda cried, sitting next to Avery in an empty publicist’s chair.

“Worse. I literally ran into my ex.”

“Oh, you poor thing!”

“I agreed to have a drink with him,” Avery groaned. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Amanda stood and offered her hand to Avery. “Come on. Follow me.” She led Avery to the Kraft services table and plopped a very large pastry in her hand. “Binge eating helps. Tell me everything.”

Avery explained the situation in detail as they ate pastries and biscuits. She could have eaten a whole cookie factory and it wouldn’t have made her feel any better. Martin noticed them after a while and joined them at the table.

“Darling?” he said to his girlfriend. “What’s all this, then?”

“Girl stuff,” Amanda said, popping a chocolate biscuit in her mouth.

Martin cocked his head at Amanda, then looked at Avery. “Blimey, what happened to your shirt? You must be freezing!” He took his blazer off and offered it to her.

“I’m fine, really,” Avery protested. But Martin already had it draped around her shoulders. She sighed. “I need to go back to the hotel. I’ve got to get a new phone and—”

“I’ll take you, dear,” Amanda said. “My scenes are done for the day. Ben’s getting rigged up on top of a building for the next few hours. He won’t notice a thing.”

“Thank you,” Avery said.

“I’ll just stay here,” Martin said. “Protect the muffins.”

Avery and Amanda slipped out of the set easily and took a cab back to the hotel. Avery expected Amanda to escort her to her room and let that be that, but she insisted on coming in. “Right,” Amanda said, “what time are you meeting him?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“Excellent. What are you wearing?”

Avery showed Amanda what was in her closet. The blonde actress clicked her tongue in disapproval. “This won’t do. Too professional.” She whipped out her cell phone and dialed a number.

“What’re you doing?” Avery asked.

“Yes, hello?” Amanda said into the phone. “I need a dress sent up to room 306, please.” She paused.  “Oh, I don’t know—something from Harvey Nicks will do. Size . . .” Amanda checked the tags from one of Avery’s frumpy dresses in the closet. “Six.”

Avery waved her hands. “No, no. Please!”

“Twenty minutes?” Amanda said into the phone. She smiled. “Perfect. Thank you so much. Charge it to room 417, will you? Ta.” She hung up the phone and looked at Avery. “I’m not about to let you see your ex looking like a schoolteacher.”

Avery looked down at her clothes. “I look like a schoolteacher?”

0000000

The dress wasn’t the end, but only the beginning. There was still an hour until her date and Amanda had brought up her makeup artist, Clarice, from the set. The concierge had fetched Amanda a stunning red dress with a beaded waist, something Avery never dreamed of wearing in a millions years. It may have been on loan, but Avery didn’t even want to look at the price tag.

“This really isn’t necessary,” Avery tried to say as Clarice brushed mascara on her eyes. “I should be back on set. I’ve got a million things to do—”

“Ben can live without you for a few hours,” Amanda reassured. “I’ve told him to call me if there’s an emergency, anyway.”

“Can you guarantee I won’t be sacked for getting ready for a night out?” Avery checked herself in the mirror Clarice had laid out. The woman was a miracle worker.

“Please,” Amanda scoffed. “Ben would never get rid of you. He’s quite keen on you.”

Avery looked at Amanda as Clarice brushed her cheekbones with blush. “What do you mean?”

Amanda checked her phone and smiled mischievously. “Nothing.”

Clarice interrupted by saying, “Do you want fire engine red or coral pink?” She held up two tubes of lipstick.

“None, thank you. I don’t want to give off the wrong impression.”

“Eh? Clarice asked. She reminded Avery a little of Freema Agyeman—gorgeous and spunky and very outspoken. “He’s the one who wants _you_ back, yeah? Make him see what he’s missing.”

Avery glanced at Amanda. Charlie’s infidelity crippled her self-confidence. Tess was a beautiful model with long blonde hair, legs up to her neck, and a nasty habit of being half naked 99% of the time around the flat. For a while, Avery even wondered why Charlie didn’t shag her earlier. But now that slag was old news and Avery had a second chance to get a leg up in the game.

She nodded at Clarice. “Fire engine red.”

Clarice smiled. “Good girl.”

Amanda’s phone rang. “Hello?” There was a pause. “What’s the word, darling?”

“Who is it?” Avery whispered.

“Benedict,” Amanda mouthed.

Avery stood from her chair just as Clarice was putting on her lipstick. It left a red trail on the corner of her mouth all the way up her cheek.

“Yup,” Amanda said into the phone. “Yeah, she’s fine. She needs a new Blackberry, though. Her’s got trashed.”

“What’s he saying?” Avery whispered harshly.

Amanda tilted the receiver away from her mouth. “He says you’re fired.”

“ _What_?” Avery cried.

Amanda laughed. “Yeah, that was her,” she said into the phone. “I’ll tell her. Cheers.” She hung up and pointed her mobile at Avery. “He knows you had a rough day. He just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”

“That’s all?” Avery asked.

“For now,” Amanda mumbled. She looked at the clock on her phone. “We better get a move on if you want to be fashionably late.”

0000000

It was true that Avery had never felt more beautiful in her life. She saw the final product of Clarice’s work in the bathroom mirror and gaped at her reflection. This woman staring back at her wasn’t a mousy Oxford grad with a penchant for order and stiff wool skirts. This new woman in the mirror was a sex bomb, a Hollywood starlet who had just broken onto the screen but who everyone knew as “that gorgeous girl in that one film.”

“Holy shit,” she said.

Clarice appeared behind her in the reflection. “Am I good or what?”

Avery turned and hugged Clarice tightly. “I think I love you.”

Clarice smiled and patted her back. “They all say that.”

Amanda poked her head in the bathroom doorway. “Come on, we’ll walk you downstairs.”

The lift ride down to the lobby felt like an eternity. There were mirrors on every side of the elevator, even the ceiling, and no matter where Avery turned her head, she caught a glimpse of herself and couldn’t help but criticize. Her arse was too big. Her hair wasn’t curled enough. Her legs were too stubby. But as soon as they exited the lift and into the lobby, all of Avery’s self-doubt melted away.

Every bloke turned their head to look at her. Even the concierge, whom Avery was almost positive was gay, had his eyes bugged out when he saw her.

“How do you feel?” Amanda asked.

“Like throwing up.”

They reached the piano bar across check-in. At one of the tables in the front, Benedict was sitting with Martin. Avery stopped and turned around quickly. “Nope, nope,” she muttered.

Amanda and Clarice took her arms and forced her to keep moving forwards. It’s not that Avery was embarrassed, she just felt guilty for not doing her job and leaving the set so quickly. What if he really _was_ cross? What if he reamed her out for being so irresponsible, so careless with a simple order of coffee?

Martin saw her first. He had his pint close to his lips and did a double-take as Avery neared. “Jesus,” he mumbled. Benedict saw her next. His mouth parted and he stared widely as though she had a halo around her head.

“Hello, boys,” Amanda said as they passed.

Benedict and Martin stood from their table clumsily. Avert stopped and flashed her boss a smile. He closed his gaping mouth and swallowed.

“You, uh . . . you look—”

“Disgusting,” Martin said. He looked at Amanda. “Dear?”

Amanda laughed. “It’s all right, sweetie. She’s sex on legs tonight.”

“Sex on legs!” Martin parroted uneasily. He sat back down to save face and gulped his beer.

Ben remained standing, gazing at Avery with a far-off look on his face.

“What?” Avery asked, touching her hair. Was her lipstick smeared? Did she have something in her teeth?

Benedict shook his head to remove himself from his stupor. “Are you, ehm—are you ladies going out?”

“Not us,” Clarice said. “She’s got a date.”

“A date?” Benedict repeated.

“It’s not a date,” Avery said. “Just a drink with an old . . . acquaintance.”

“Must be the king of Norway with that dress,” Martin said beneath his breath. Amanda smacked his shoulder.

Avery swallowed hard, her nerves bunching together in the pit of her stomach. She looked at Benedict and said meekly, “Do I look okay?”

A slight laugh escaped his mouth, as if she had asked the most obvious question on the planet. He nodded and said, “You look beautiful.”

Avery smiled greatly, baring her teeth. It was just what she needed to hear to untangle the knots in her stomach, to feel confident and secure and beautiful enough to make Charlie weep bitter tears of regret. She held her silver clutch to her stomach and said, “I won’t be late.”


	7. Incident at the King's Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery has her drink (or four) with her ex-boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm majoring in creative writing. Yes, I'm wasting my talents. YES, you fuckers better buy my book if/when it ever gets published. I love you all. <3

**The Alma Tavern, 11:13pm**

As Benedict crossed the road with Martin, he couldn’t help but wonder how Avery’s non-date was going. A part of him wanted to stay at the piano bar in the hotel, if only to see that she had gotten home safely. But the other part of him dreaded the possibility that she would have this non-lover of her’s on her arm when she got back. Why was she having a drink with him, anyway? He was a cheating prat who probably looked like Groucho Marx and ate with his toes. Avery deserved better. In that red dress and that beautiful smile, she deserved everything the world had to offer.

“Oi, mate!” Martin said. The light had turned green, signaling they could cross.

“Sorry.” Ben followed Martin closely, pulling his jacket closer around his waist. There was a chill in the air and Benedict suddenly realized that Avery had gone out without a coat. What if she walked home and caught a cold? What if Groucho Fuck-face didn’t lend her his jacket?

“Are you with me, Ben?” Martin asked. They were across the street now in front of the Alma Tavern, a traditional pub in the west end of the city. Martin wanted to get a bite and check out the theater in back to book a show during their stay. Amanda had called it a night early to have a Skype session with her children.

They paused outside the pub as Benedict took a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He lit one up and stared absentmindedly down the street.

“You’re being cryptic,” Martin said. “I don’t like it.”

Ben took a drag and exhaled slowly. “Do you think Avery’s all right?”

Martin looked at his friend and shrugged. “Dunno. I s’pose. She’s a tough woman.”

“I know, it’s just . . .” Benedict sighed and smoked again. “Why do women insist on going back to their dodgy exes?”

“Who says she’s going back to him?”

Ben laughed sarcastically. In this light, he looked and acted almost exactly like his _Sherlock_ character—smug and prideful. “She wasn’t wearing that dress to impress _us_. I guarantee it.”

“Why do you care so much?” Martin asked, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

Benedict looked at his friend, cigarette perched between his fingers. It was doing nothing to calm his nerves. “I don’t. I mean, I do—I just worry, that’s all. She’s a good friend and I’d hate to see her get hurt.” He flicked his cigarette on the ground and snubbed it out with his shoe. As he exhaled the last of the smoke, he noticed his friend smiling at him. “What?” Ben asked.

Martin shook his head. “Nothing. You just sound jealous, is all.”

“Jealous?” Benedict cried. He held open the pub door for his friend but had a right mind to smack him in the face with it. “That’s bollocks.”

As soon as they entered, Benedict and Martin stopped. At the front of the bar, slumped over a cocktail, Avery sat on one of the stools with the grimmest look either of the men had ever seen. Her mascara was running down her face. A strap on her dress had been torn. She had her heels off and placed on top of the counter. When she looked in the mirror behind the bar, she saw Ben and Martin’s reflection and started to cry.

0000000

**The King’s Arms, three hours earlier**

Avery thought she was fashionably late, but leave it to Charlie to show up a good forty-five minutes behind schedule. He worse a crisp blue suit with a red tie, a jaunt in his step, and when Avery stood from the table, he stopped and smiled.

“Wow. You look gorgeous.”

“You’re _late_ ,” Avery said, sitting back down.

“Got tied down,” Charlie said, taking a place at the table.

“Who was it this time, some tart from Tesco?”

Charlie laughed and snapped his fingers for the waiter. “I suppose I deserved that.” When the waiter came around, Charlie ordered a sangria with lime.

“I’ll have another Barclay’s, please,” Avery said to the waiter.

Charlie raised a brow at her. “Barclay’s? Since when do you drink that swill?”

 _Since Benedict-fucking-Cumberbatch ordered it_ , Avery thought. She shrugged and said, “Dunno. Have a taste for it lately.”

Charlie shook his head and chuckled. “I remember this. I’d always order the froofy drinks and you’d get a beer like a chum at a rower’s club. I can still see right through you, Aves.”

Avery looked at the table setting and forced an amiable smile. _Fuck you_ , she thought. _You don’t know anything about me._ But the words could never make it past her lips.

Charlie leaned back in his chair and studied Avery. “You really do look fantastic. New dress?”

Avery nodded. “You could say that.”

Charlie tilted forward, elbows on the table. “Tell me, then. Who are you working for? I tried Googling you, but nothing recent came up. PR or PA?” He wiggled his eyebrow, an act Avery found distasteful even today.

“I’m not allowed to say,” she admitted. And it was the truth.

“Ah,” Charlie peered at her with a know-it-all smile. “PA, then. Go on, who is it? David Tennant? Lily Allen?”

“I’m really not allowed to say, Charlie.”

“I’ll squeeze it out of you eventually.” Charlie took a sip from his water glass and straightened his tie. “Since you asked, I’ve been doing quite well. Dad’s firm has taken off—un-besmirched by me so far. Got a nice flat by the river—”

“Why did you ask me here, Charlie?” Avery said.

Charlie folded his hands on the table and pursed his lips. “I want you back, Aves.”

Avery rolled her eyes and fell back against her seat in a huff. “Jesus Christ, Chaz—”

“I know I said I only wanted to be mates, but that was a lie. Seeing you on the street again today made me realize how much I missed you.”

“And you thought I’d, what? Fall back into your arms after all these years?”

“No, I just—” Charlie stopped as the waiter came by with their drinks. He thanked the man and took a hearty sip of his sangria. “I thought a part of you felt the same way. You’ve got this glow about you, Aves. Like someone’s shined a light on inside you.” He paused and stared at Avery with a knowing smile. “Who are you fucking?”

“Charlie!” Avery yelled. He was never known for subtlety.

“Is it your boss, then? This mysterious celebrity?”

“My sex life is none of your bloody business!” Avery said. She realized she had been yelling and shrunk in her chair. “And even if I was, I’m sure he’d be a better shag than you.”

Charlie slapped his hand on the table and laughed. “See, I miss that! This back-and-forth we always had. It’s electrifying.”

“Charlie, we fought _constantly_ ,” Avery said. “That’s not passion, that’s just a shit relationship. You can’t stand anyone having the upper hand over you.”

“I can so!” Charlie argued.

“No you can’t.”

“I can—”

“You can’t! See, you’re doing it now.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Fine. Okay. I’m a twerp. At least I can admit it now, eh?”

Avery pressed her lips together to keep from smiling, but his boyish grin made her snort a laugh. “You’re incorrigible, Charlie.”

“I know,” Charlie said. He looked out at the bar and raised his hand. “ _Garçon_? I’ll have what she’s having, please.”

0000000

Three Barclay’s in, Avery had forgotten why she was so nervous to be here in the first place. Despite his faults, Charlie was proving to be surprisingly good company. They fell into their usual habits of nitpicking the Prime Minister and making stories up of the other patrons at the bar. The waitress in the corner was secretly a Russian spy. The mixologist at the bar was a gay stripper. The couple by the window were two long-lost relatives who had a penchant for incest.

“That’s awful!” Avery laughed.

“Rules of the game, love. The dirtier, the better.”

Avery chuckled. She realized they hadn’t ordered a speck of food to eat since sitting down, but the beer filled her up quite nicely and the conversation kept her stomach from talking over her brain.

“So,” Charlie continued, “still keeping mum about your boss?”

Avery shook her head and put a finger to her lips. “Loose lips sink shits. I mean _ships_.” She giggled. “Really, though, it’s no big deal. It’s just a job.”

“Mm.” Charlie nodded. He leaned in, his face against the candlelight, and whispered, “What does he think of you staying out past your bedtime?”

Avery rolled her eyes. “He’s my boss, not my dad.”

Charlie held up his glass. “Cheers to that.”

Avery clinked glasses with him. Things were going so much better than she expected. There were no tears, no yelling for hair-pulling or food-throwing. They were just two adults having pleasant conversation. Avery finally felt like a grown-up, something her relationship with Charlie deprived her of.

After their fourth beer, Avery decided it was time for them to part ways. She expected Charlie to put up a fuss, but he walked her outside and even gave her his jacket to block the chilly wind. They walked a block down the street and stopped at a light.

“I can take it from here,” Avery said.

“You sure?” Charlie reached out and rubbed her arms to keep her warm. “I can call a taxi.”

“Naw, I like to walk,” Avery said, tilting her head up to smell the air. “It help me think.”

“Okay.” Charlie smiled. He leaned in to peck her on the cheek, then switched course completely and headed straight for her mouth.

Avery wasn’t fast enough. His wet lips were already on hers by the time she started batting him away. She pushed him off and yelled, “What the hell, Charlie?”

“What?” he cried. “I thought you wanted—”

“You’ve ruined the whole bloody evening!”

“What do you mean?” he said. “You knew this was coming, Aves. That dress, your hair . . . your tits look fantastic.”

Avery smacked him over the head with her silver clutch. “You prick!”

“Aves, c’mon,” Charlie took her arms and pulled her closer. The more she resisted, the tighter he held on.

“Charlie, stop it! I mean it—”

“C’mon, babe—”

Avery jerked away. His hand was holding onto the strap of her dress for leverage, and as he fell back, it broke. Avery raised her hand and slapped him across the face. Charlie stumbled back slightly.

“The _fuck_?” he yelled. “That hurt, you bitch!”

“Get away from me, Charlie, or I swear to God I’ll scream!” Avery took his jacket from her shoulders and threw it at him.

He stared at her moment, face red and eyes pointing daggers. He turned sharply and muttered, “Cunt,” under his breath as he crossed the road. On the other side of the street, he pointed to her and said, “There’s a reason I cheated on you, you frigid bitch!”

Avery watched him leave, wondering if this was a horrible nightmare or a fantasy she had conjured. But it was real. Charlie could change on a dime like that, and while he had never forced himself on her like that before, years of separation must have taken its toll on his patience. She hugged herself and breathed raggedly. A few more drink in her and she might not have had the strength to fight him off. Would he really have taken it that far? Possibly. It was the idea that scared Avery more than anything.

She touched the broken strap on her dress. There was no way Harvey Nichols would take it back now, and it was a small fortune that she didn’t want to saddle Amanda with.  Avery put her hand on her forehead and smoothed out her wrinkles. Tears formed behind her eyes like pinpricks. She didn’t have her Blackberry to call anyone. She was in a town of old ghosts with no way of redeeming herself.

So she walked. And cried. Days, miles, lifetimes later, she found herself at the Alma Tavern. Avery sat at the front of the bar and ordered a shot.

“Don’t stop pouring until I’m good and drunk,” she said to the bartender.

She drank a shot of vodka and a _cuba libre_. She had a glass of wine for the next wave of tears that hit her. A man tried asking if she was okay, but she brushed him off by calling him a communist pig—which she instantly regretted—and no one else bothered her the rest of the night.

Until Benedict-fucking-Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman walked in.

She saw their reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Such handsome men. Such utter non-twats. They would never stick their tongues down her throat forcefully. They would never tear the strap on her £2,000 dress. And they certainly would never call her a frigid bitch or a cunt. Their goodness was too much to handle. Their beauty was too irritatingly unspoiled. Perfect people _did_ exist, after all.

And Avery cried all over again.


	8. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Benedict manages to cheer Avery up, she comes to a life-altering realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so very sorry for the awful excuse of erotica in this section.

The boys blazed a trail to Avery. Martin was slightly ahead, and Benedict couldn’t help but push past him and meet the lovely brunette at the bar first. “What’s happened?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

Avery sniffled and look up at her boss. His sapphire eyes were wrought with concern, studying her intensely. “Oh, hello, sir,” she said. Her voice was thick, choked by tears and embarrassment. “Lovely to see you.”

“What happened, Avery?” Marti asked, standing on the other side of her.

Avery turned to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re a proper chap, Martin. One of the good ones. You should write a book about being an upstanding citizen in every way.”

“Avery, listen.” Ben sat down on the stool next to her, his voice low. He didn’t seem to care that people might notice them and sell the strange little scene to a gossip rag. “If you’re hurt . . . if something horrible happened—”

“I’m so _stupid_ ,” Avery whispered. She put her hand on her face, elbow resting on the counter. “So stupid.”

Ben asked the bartender for a water and handed it to Avery. She drank greedily, took a deep breath, and started again. “It was going so well. I thought we could actual try and be friends. Then he mucked it up and got fresh. Ripped my bloody dress . . .” she sniffled again and looked at Benedict. “Do you know what he called me?”

Ben’s jaw tightened. He felt his blood boil and his hand clench into a fist. If this twat, Charlie, had called her anything other than her name, he was going to lose it.

Avery turned to Martin and said, “Tell me—have you ever had the impulse to call a woman a cunt for not putting out?”

Martin stood from his stool. “Right, where does he live?” he demanded. “I mean it. Where can we find him?”

Benedict took an even less-calm approach by saying, “I’ll fucking kill him.”

For how drunk Avery felt, their protectiveness was flattering. She wanted nothing more to eat and sleep and watch Charlie get his arse handed to him in between, but even with a few drinks in her, she knew she had to rein them in.

“Please, please . . .” Avery put her hand on her boss’s shoulder. “Please sit. I can’t do this right now. I’m so bloody tired and hungry.”

Ben looked at Martin and sighed slowly. He was trembling with rage, the desire to kill this Charlie person unlike anything he had ever felt. He considered himself a peaceful person, but if a man had the bollocks to disrespect a woman—especially one as kind and beautiful and sweet as Avery—then there was no justice in the world. He sat back down in his stool.

“What can we do?” he asked. “How can we help?”

Avery shook her head and gave him a weak smile. “You can’t.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and took another liberal gulp of water. “I miss Nani. She’d always make me curry when I was sloshed.”

“Who’s Nani?” Martin asked.

“My flatmate. She’s getting married.” Avery chuckled, thinking of how funny it was that Nabi was going to be someone’s wife and probably a mother. For someone who couldn’t change the batteries in the smoke alarm, Nani was taking on a big responsibility. Suddenly, Avery’s ordeal with Charlie seemed like a drop in the ocean. Avery looked at her boss. “You’re not married,” she said.

The anger in his face melted away and he smiled slightly. “No, I’m not.”

“Why not?” Avery asked. The room was tilted ever-further to the right. She held onto the edge of the bar for support. “You’re so nice. Certainly not like Charlie.” She reached out and touched the tip of his nose. “ _Boop_!” Avery giggled.

Ben looked at Martin. “All right. Time to get her home.”

“No, please!” Avery said. “I’m _starving_.”

“We’ll order in,” Ben said.

“I’ll call a cab,” Martin said. “You take her out the back way, I’ll meet you in a tick.”

“Right.” Benedict helped Avery to her feet. She grabbed her shoes and held his waist for support, hardly thinking of the compromising situation it may have seemed like to others. But Ben put his arm around her and guided her out the back of the pub carefully.

As they exited to the alley, Avery tripped slightly, the hard pavement cold on her feet. “Is this grounds for termination, Mr. Cumberbumbedebadoo?” she asked.

“As long as you don’t vomit on my feet,” he responded.

Avery snorted out a laugh and held his waist tighter. He was so strong, so solid. No matter how much she bended and swayed and stumbled, he had a good hold on her and didn’t let go. It wasn’t long until a cab pulled up in the alley with Martin in the back. He helped Avery climb inside and Benedict took the front seat.

Pieces of the cab ride back to the hotel went missing like spliced film strip. Avery remember resting her head on the window and looking up at the blurred streetlights. She remembered wanting to throw up, but swallowed it back down. Then they were in an elevator, her shoes mysteriously strapped to her feet, the lift causing her stomach to drop to her knees. As they walked through a twisting, turning hallway, Benedict and Martin parted ways after exchanging a few words. Avery saluted him and congratulated Martin on a job well done.

Then she was in bed. _Her_ bed. On her back. Someone was taking her shoes off and pulling a blanket over her body up to her waist.

“Is this the elevator?” Avery asked, her head bobbing up and down and up and—

“You’re in your room,” a voice said. Ben’s voice. Smooth and silky and dripping with sex. “Are you going to fall asleep?”

Avery bolted upright, which was a big mistake. All the blood rushed to the back of her eyeballs and her brain flipped upside down. “You promised food.” She pointed at her boss and sneered at him.

Benedict laughed. It was like a violin swelling romantically. “Up for it?”

Another chunk of the night went missing, because Avery laid back down for five seconds, and when she arose, Benedict was kneeling next to the coffee table in the small lounge area, scooping rice and curry and samosas onto two plates. He noticed her wobbling over to the couches and got up to help. Avery waved him away and he sat back down on the floor.

“You have to promise you won’t puke,” Benedict said.

“I make no such promises,” Avery replied. She grabbed the throw blanket from the couch and wrapped it around herself. She sat on the floor across the coffee table from Ben and breathed in the spicy, exotic smells of take-out Indian. Her heart ached for Nani. “Is this a habit of yours?” she asked Benedict. “Babysitting slobbering drunks?”

“No,” Ben said, spooning tandoori onto his paper plate. “I just don’t like seeing people go to bed hungry. Myself included.”

Avery laughed. “Ah. The _real_ excuse for midnight take-out.”

Benedict chuckled. “Hand me your plate.”

Amazingly, he has gotten all the food she loved from a place called India Paradise down the block. Chicken tika masala, raisin naan, lamb curry with sweet tamarind sauce, and plenty of veggie samosas for them both. As soon as she started to eat, Avery felt better. Her head didn’t spin as much. Her words became less slurred and whole. After her fist helping of lamb curry, she felt almost sober. But the weight of her disastrous non-date with Charlie still kept a dark cloud over her head.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Benedict asked, taking a bite out of a samosa.

Avery pushed her chicken around her plate and sighed. “Not really. I should have trusted my instincts. I’m a complete imbecile.”

“You’re _not_ ,” Benedict said sternly. “He’s the prat for doing what he did.”

Avery nodded slowly. She looked at Ben across the coffee table. “I bet you’re kicking yourself for hiring a mess like me.”

Ben put his silverware down and pushed his plate away. He looked at Avery so seriously, she became legitimately concerned. “You need to stop doing that,” he said.

“Doing what?”

“I wouldn’t have hired you if I didn’t think you were right for the job. You had a bad day. You are allowed to be vulnerable. Don’t ever, _ever_ let anyone make you believe you’re less than a smart, talented, and lovely person.”

Avery stared. Her heart thudded in her chest. Any remnants of drunkenness had been sobered by his words. He spoke with such conviction, such passion and earnestness, Avery felt like tearing up. No man, except for her father, had ever talked her up so grandly without a trace of irony.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Ben nodded, lowered his eyes a moment, and looked at Avery again. “I can still have him murdered, you know.”

Avery broke out laughing.

“I’m quite serious.” Benedict helped himself to another samosa, grinning. “It would take two phone calls at the most.”

“Can we put a pin in the idea?” Avery asked.

“Too late,” Ben said, “I’ve got a sniper trained on what’s-his-name as we speak.”

Avery laughed. She smiled fondly at her boss and said, “Thank you. For everything.”

Benedict nodded. “You’re most welcome.”

They finished off their meal and Ben cleaned up the paper plates and glasses. Avery walked him to her door, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, and leaned against the wall as he put his hand on the knob.

“You’re sure you’ll be all right?” her boss asked.

Avery nodded and smiled. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She scrunched her face and touched the broken strap of her dress. “Do you think Amanda will be cross?”

“Let’s see.”

Benedict reached out and took the broken strap between his thumb and forefinger. He placed it over her smooth, creamy shoulder and touched the frayed ends of the fabric together. Ben leaned in, inspecting the tear, his face mere hairs apart from Avery’s. His eyes wandered up her long neck and slender jaw. He could smell the curry on her breath, the sweet lilac scent of her body wash. Her hair was slightly tousled from its up-do, just enough that he wanted to tuck a few stray strands behind her ear. Her breathing changed just slightly, just enough for Benedict to notice her large breasts rise and fall behind the plunging neck of her dress. Before he allowed himself to get any closer, Ben pulled away and let the broken strap fall down her shoulder again.

He cleared his throat and said, “I know someone who can fix that.”

Avery blinked. “Fix what?” She didn’t realize she was staring at his lips. He had been so close, so gentle with his long fingers on her shoulder, that every molecule in her body melted away and she could barely breathe. Avery forced herself back to reality and pulled the blanket tighter around herself. “Right. The dress. That would be great.”

Benedict smiled at her, his eyes searching her face. He got this hazy look, the same look he had given her when he first saw her in the red dress. His licked his lips slightly, the muscles in his arms tightening.

Avery swallowed hard. She parted her lips, words dissolving on her tongue. Then she forced herself to look away and said, “Well, I should get some sleep.”

Ben nodded, coming out of his trance. “So should I.” He smiled and leaned in to give Avery a quick, awkward peck on the cheek.

Avery chuckled and took a few steps back for safety.

Benedict opened the door. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

He tipped his head, smiled, and walked out.

When he was gone, Avery leaned against the wall and put her hand to her heart. She felt drunk all over again.

0000000

Some of the best dreams Avery ever had was when she was drunk. Tonight was no exception.

There was warm watering, misting all around her. A pair of hands with long fingers was holding her waist, traveling up her back and into her wet hair. She felt the coldness of a shower door as she leaned back, her mouth intertwined with another.

Moist, eager lips.

Strong arms.

Avery’s loins throbbed as a man’s cock was positioned right up along her wet snatch, begging to be entered. She moaned as the man ran his tongue down her neck, lapping up water. She put her arms around his neck and he grabbed her rear, pulling her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He held on tightly so she wouldn’t fall.

 _“Please . . .”_ Avery whispered.

 _“Please what?”_ the man asked.

She knew that voice. Deep. Silky. A voice like the reverb of a baritone piano key.

Benedict.

 _“Please do this,”_ Avery begged.

He obliged whole-heartedly. Ben thrust his cock in her, moaning every inch of the way. Avery held onto the top of the shower door and cried out. He thrust slowly at first, then faster, digging his fingers into her arse. Benedict kissed her neck, then lowered his mouth onto her breasts and teased her nipples.

 _“Oh my God,”_ Avery cried. _“Ohhh God . . .”_

Then suddenly she was on her feet, her back to him, forehead pressed against the glass of the shower door. Benedict took her from behind, cupping her breast in one hand and lightly tapping her arse with the other.

 _“So good,”_ he whispered against her neck.

Avery reached her arm around and held the back of his head, urging him closer, harder, faster. He breathed raggedly against her neck and pounded vigorously, filling Avery with every inch of himself.

 _“Please tell me,”_ Avery said between thrusts. _“Please . . .”_

Benedict turned his head up and pressed his lips against her ear. His hips slowed. His hand loosened on her breast. His lips were still right up against Avery’s ear, but she couldn’t hear what he was whispering.

 _“I can’t . . . can’t hear,”_ Avery said. _“Please don’t—”_

A loud buzzing interrupted Avery’s dream. She snapped her eyes open and sucked in a deep breath. The clock on her nightstand was telling her to get up. She batted it onto the floor and rolled over on her side, body trembling. What little morning light that was in the room blinded her. Avery’s head pounded. Her privates were burning, aching for release with just the touch of her hand.

Avery slowly raised her head from her pillow. She looked around and whispered, “Shit.”

It was a sex dream. About her bloody _boss_. Avery hadn’t had a sex dream since last year, and even then it was with a faceless man. This felt so real, so scarily accurate with what she wanted in a good shag. But it was disturbing, also. Her bloody fucking boss!

Avery threw her covers off and scrambled for the room phone. She dialed Nani, hoping her friend wasn’t stuck with a client. Three agonizing rings later, Nani answered with a sleepy, “Hello?”

“Nan.”

“What is it?” Nani asked, perking up. She knew Avery was seriously concerned about something by the tone in her voice. Either someone had died, or—

“I think I fancy my boss.”


	9. The Christmas Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict gives Avery a Christmas gift that she almost can't accept.

Nani was hysterical. She screamed about Avery and this handsome, wealthy actor having beautiful Cumberbabies and a Disney wedding and she could tell—from a hundred miles away and having never met the actor—that Benedict was in love with her, as well.

Avery dismissed it. She told herself it was just because he was handsome. It was his eyes and his high cheekbones and sexy voice and long banana fingers that she fancied. And who wouldn’t? She was no different than millions of girls on the internet pining for him. It wasn’t terrifying for them, so why should it be terrifying for her?

The problem was, he was _always_ around. It was part of the job, after all. She followed him like a shadow, always basking in his trail of spicy cologne, always leaning next to him to grab notes or take an important number. He _saw_ her. He smiled at her and waved and asked how her day was going. Those girls on the internet most certainly couldn’t say the same thing.

For weeks, Avery was able to do her job without any more personal interruptions. She kept things light and professional—went to bed at a decent hour alone, called Nani and her father on her hours off, even took up knitting on long commutes to interviews and outdoor shoots. Only under the cover of sleep was her subconscious able to take over and speak the truth—that she wanted to shag him mercilessly. Such inappropriate thoughts were met with penance in the morning, like cold showers and purposefully burnt toast. She kept her eyes low and her head down.

The first episode was finally finished filming in mid-November. They began shooting the next episode almost a month later, with a short break for Christmas. Avery had leave to go to Portsmouth to see her dad for the holiday. Before she left, a knock sounded at her hotel room door. She was just starting to pack, her clothes folded neatly on her bed next to her luggage.

Avery went to the door and looked through the peephole. It was Benedict. She took a breath to steady herself and opened the door, mustering the best platonic smile she could.

“Hello,” she said.

Ben had something behind his back. He revealed a box wrapped in shiny red paper with a smart green bow. “Happy Christmas,” he said, smiling.

Avery grinned genuinely. “What’s this?”

Benedict shook the box. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yes!” She led him inside and smoothed her hair. She was wearing her “packing” outfit, pajama bottoms with her Oxford tee and plaid slippers. She crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I must look like a state. Let me change.”

She went to the bedroom and closed the sliding panel doors. Benedict waited outside in the living area, pacing back and forth with the gift still in hand. “Almost done packing?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Avery said, pulling a thick jumper over her head. “My train leaves at eight tonight.”

Ben nodded as if she could see her. He brushed his thumb along the wrapped box, excited to see her face when she opened it. He smiled.

“When do you leave?” Avery called. She pulled on a pair of denims.

“Tomorrow,” he replied. “Mum’s got me on wood-chopping duty.”

“You’re joking!” Avery laughed. She checked her hair in the bathroom mirror and pulled it back in a loose ponytail.

Ben sat on the couch. He noticed a silk camisole wedged between the cushions and pulled it out. Avery must have forgotten about it. Benedict brushed his fingers along the fabric and smiled. He brought it to his face and took a quick whiff. It smelled like her lilac body wash. Ben swooned.

“I thought you’d have a professional do that for you?” Avery said, coming out of the bedroom.

Ben stuffed the cami between the cushions again and turned his head to her. She looked radiant even in casual clothing. He ever knew someone could make not giving a damn look so calculated and gorgeous.

“You don’t think I can chop my own wood?” he said.

Avery shrugged and sat on the couch next to him, one leg tucked in. “Well, you need _me_ to get you coffee. I figured lumberjacking was out of the question for you.”

Benedict smiled and narrowed his eyes. “Cheeky.” He held out the present to her again.

Avery grinned. She took the present slowly and opened it with precision, keeping the paper and bow intact. She lifted the lid of the medium-sized box and peeled away the tissue paper. Inside, there was a book with a faded green leather bound and yellowing paper. Avery squinted at the title.

“ _Peter and Wendy_ ,” she said. She checked the inside. It was a first edition, 1911. Avery put a hand to her mouth and gasped. Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh my God.”

“I remember you telling me this was your favorite book growing up,” Benedict said.

Avery shook her head in disbelief as she stared at the treasure. “This was my mum’s favorite book, too.” She looked at her boss. “How did you—?”

“I found it on ebay, of all places,” Ben said with a laugh. “It genuine. Got a letter for it and everything.”

Avery just kept shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes. She knew for a fact that a first-edition J.M. Barrie went for over a thousand pounds. “This is too much,” she said. “I can’t—”

“I want you to have it,” Benedict said. “I picked it out especially for you.”

Avery couldn’t keep her tears in anymore. One fell down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly, sniffling. She finally looked at him and smiled. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” She leaned over and wrapped her arms around her neck. She meant for it to be a light, friendly hug, but she ended up burying her face in the crook of his neck and squeezing him tightly.

He rubbed her back and whispered, “You’re welcome.”

Even after a few seconds, they didn’t let go. Benedict didn’t try to pull away. In fact, he tilted his head closer to hers. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever gotten Avery. Charlie never gave her anything so sentimental, and Nani never had the cash for expensive things. Her father tried his best, but at the end of the day he gave his daughter what was practical, but still plenty special to her.

Avery finally separated from him with an embarrassed laugh. She wiped her eyes and said, “I’m such a mug.” She suddenly looked at him in horror. “Oh, bollocks! I didn’t get you anything!”

Ben laughed. “It’s all right—”

“No, it’s not! You got me this amazing gift, and I—”

“ _Avery_.” Benedict put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s fine. Really. I’ve got enough bloody _stuff_ lying around my flat, anyway.” He smiled, eyeing her up and down, his hands still touching her gently. He leaned in slightly and whispered, “Though, if you _must_ get me something, I wouldn’t say no to a Macallan 1946.”

Avery laughed. Her father was a whisky drinker and she knew a drink like that cost almost half a million dollars. “ _Someday_ ,” he always mused. “ _Someday I’ll have a sip_.”

“Will you be back for New Year’s?” Benedict asked.

Avery held the book to her chest. She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Ben smiled, gazing at her in such a way, Avery felt that rush of warm longing in her chest that she woke up with when she was dreaming about him.

She cleared her throat and said, “If you need me while I’m gone—”

“I’ll call.”

Avery grinned. She hugged him again, kissing his cheek lightly for one last goodbye.

0000000

**Portsmouth**

MacReynold’s Pub on the docks still had that crooked step in the front, still had faded yellow wallpaper and the stench of fish and flat beer. It was like stepping back into childhood for Avery. She would walk down to the docks after school and meet her father as he was having his after-work pint. Then they’d walk home together, his rough hand in hers, telling her about his day while she skipped and sang.

Stepping into the pub now, Avery smiled at the familiar faces. There was old Joe Telly, whose hands were as scaley as the fish he gutted in the market. Declan Rogers was at his usual table by the old jukebox, smoking clove cigarettes and grumbling about the Prime Minister. And then there was her father, Henry, sitting on a stool with his back to the crowd, nursing a pint as he flirted with Fred MacReynold’s wife.

Avery snaked her way through the tables, set her bag on the floor, and put her hands over her father’s eyes from behind. “Guess who,” she whispered in his ear.

Henry spun around in his chair and smiled widely. “Avey-baby!” he cried, jumping up and pulling her into a bear hug.

Avery laughed and breathed him in. Pipe tobacco. Fish ‘n chips. Earl Grey tea. Home.

They parted and Henry held his daughter out for the whole pub to see. “Oi, boys!” he yelled. “My girl is back!”

The crusty old men turned and cheered when they saw Avery, holding up their pints and flashing her earnest smiles. Avery gave her father another hug and offered to pay his tab.

“No, no,” Henry said, pulling out his wallet. “Picked up an extra shift in the yard. I’m taking you out tonight.”

“You shouldn’t work so hard, Dad,” Avery said, picking up her bag.

“What else am I gonna do? _Date_?” He laughed, then threw a wink at old Mrs. MacReynold.

Avery shook her head and smiled. Her father was still as boisterous as ever, a little rounder in his belly and balder on his crown, but he never lost that sparkle in his baby-blue eyes. He took Avery’s bag for her, said cheerio to the boys, and walked off down the street towards home. It was like she had never left.

0000000

Later that night, after a hearty steak dinner in town, Avery unpacked her things in her old room and chatted with Nani on the phone. Avery’s room was on the top floor of their townhouse, a slanted wall to the east and a window overlooking the water. Her dad hadn’t changed a thing since she left for uni—still the same floral bed sheets and oak furniture, pictures from grade school on the wall and photos of her mum on the dresser.

“I told you,” Nani said on the phone. “And what did I tell you? He _loooooves_ you!”

Avery rolled her eyes and laughed as she tucked a pair of jeans in her bottom dresser. She had her phone pressed to her ear with her shoulder, tilting the room slightly. “Just because he gave me a book, it doesn’t mean he fancies me,” Avery told her friend.

“A book that costs a cool thousand,” Nani said. There was a racket on her end of the line like pots being thrown about, then a string of Hindi. Raj must have been trying to cook again. “Do you know how much Raj’s wedding ring costs?” Nani asked.

“I don’t want to—”

“Not as much as that bloody book, I’ll tell you that. You’re practically married already.”

Avery sat on the edge of her bed and pushed the rest of her clothes in her luggage aside. On the bottom of the duffle bag, her book was nestles safely between two cotton shirts. She ran her fingers over the word cover and smiled. “He’s just being nice,” Avery said. “Celebrities give their assistants expensive things all the time. Anita Thornway gave me that diamond tennis bracelet for my birthday, remember?”

There was another clash in the background on Nani’s end. “Oi, _sāvadhāna rahō_!” she yelled to her fiancé. Avery didn’t know what it meant, but she guessed it wasn’t pretty. “What about you?” Nani asked.

“What _about_ me?”

“Still want to snog his brains out?”

“Nanita!” Avery stood and continued unpacking. “I told you, all that’s behind me now. I’m a professional.”

“So what did you get him for Christmas? Besides your twat?”

Avery shook her head. There was no stopping Nani’s vulgarity once it was in motion. “Actually, I’m knitting him a scarf. I started it on the train to Portsmouth.” Avery dug in the side of the bad and pulled out her blossoming creation. It was orange-yellow with chunky edges and gaps throughout. “I think it’s coming along nicely,” she said.

“A _scarf_?” Nani sneered. “A rich, handsome sex god gives you a first-edition of your favorite book and you’re knitting him a bloody _scarf_? Are you daft?”

“What? It’s charming!”

“Avery, I love you, but you’re a fuckin’ idiot.”

Avery’s phone beeped, indicating an incoming call. “Hold on a sec, Nan.” She answered the other call professionally, in case another persistent magazine editor wanted to book an interview just before Christmas. “This is Avery.”

“You need to come to London.”

It was Benedict.

Avery stopped pacing. Her heart raced. If there was some kind of an emergency, something wrong with his schedule—

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Ben laughed. “I mean for New Year’s Eve. I’m having a party.”

Avery scrunched her nose. “ _You’re_ having a party?”

“Well, me and a very exclusive list of guests. I rented out a whole karaoke bar on the west end.”

Avery spun around, unsure of what to do with herself. “Um . . . sorry, you need me to work, or—?”

“Of course not!” Ben said. “I’m inviting you to my New Year’s Eve party as a _guest_. No obligation. And no Blackberry.”

Avery smiled and put a hand to her flushed cheek. She thought he would be spending New Year’s Eve quietly in Bristol, maybe having a few pints with Martin and Amanda—nothing to call the Queen about. This, however, sounded like the first proper celebrity party Avery would be going to with him.

“Well, um—” Avery’s phone beeped again, telling her that Nani was still on the other line. “Is it all right if I bring a friend? Since I’ll be in London, anyway—”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Two at the most, though. We’ll already be ripping at the seams.”

Avery smiled. “Great! Um, let me call you back in five.”

“So you’ll come, then?” Ben asked. He sounded so hopeful, even a touch concerned about her final answer.

“I’ll be there with bells on,” she said.

“Great. Call me in a bit, okay?”

“Will do.” Avery’s smile stretched to her earlobes as she clicked back over to Nani. In London, Nani sounded like she was beating Raj with a metal pasta strainer, yelling in a mix of English and Hindi about how her mother’s chutney recipe was, by far, the best in New Delhi. “Nan? Nani!”

The yelling ceased. “What’s the word?” Nani asked.

Avery chuckled. She knew Nanita was going to go ape-shit in about three seconds. “How would you like to attend a New Year’s Eve party in London with me and my boss?”

Silence stabbed Avery’s ear from the other end of the line. Raj tried saying something, but Nani hushed him. Avery could practically see her roommate frozen in the kitchen, struggling to process what Avery has said. “I-I don’t under . . .”

“You and Raj are invited to a celeb party in London for New Year’s Eve.”

Nani screamed loudly into the phone. “OHMIGOD, OHMIGOD, OHMIGOD!” she yelled.

“What?” Raj said. “What the bloody hell, Nan?”

Avery laughed and held the phone away from her ear to protect her eardrums. She tilted the receiver towards her mouth and yelled, “Okay, I guess I’ll put you down for a ‘maybe,’ then. I gotta go, Nan, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“OHMIGOD, OHMIGOD, OHMIGOD—”

_Click_.


	10. New Year's Eve Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery and her friends Nani and Raj spend a lavish New Year's Eve with Benedict and his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is short, I had to break it up into two chapters. Just out of curiosity, how many of my readers are actually British?

 

It was only two blocks to Ruby Blue from the Leicester Square tube, enough time for Avery to give Nani and Raj a strict set of rules to abide by for the night. She led them down the hectic, blustery street like a general leading a small army into war. Her tall silver heels were already aching, but there would be time to worry about that later.

Nani was arm-in-arm with Raj. She and Avery had gotten ready at the flat, gussying themselves up in the bathroom mirror like a couple of schoolgirls going to the clubs on a Friday night. Avery wore a black dress with a Peter Pan collar, her hair swept up smartly in a French twist. She carried a mysterious white box that Nani wouldn’t stop asking about. Nani wore a yellow dress with a beaded waist that made her bronze skin glow. She applied and reapplied her makeup at least twenty times, her hands shaking nervously as she tried to decide which eye shadow would go best with her shoes. Raj, ever the hipster, played it safe with a pair of denims, a white button-down, and a checkered tie. His curly hair was a brown mess on his head, large glasses magnifying his handsome eyes. He clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes as the girls got ready that night. Why he wasn’t more excited, Avery didn’t know.

As they reached Ruby Blue, Avery noticed security surrounding the outside of the building. She stopped and turned to her friends, clutching the box to her chest. “Okay, we’re almost there.”

Nani grinned and bounced excitedly.

“We need to do something first,” Avery said. “Please raise both hands.”

Raj and Nani looked at each other, then raised their hands.

“You must promise to be on your best behavior,” Avery instructed. “There might be a lot of famous people in there tonight. I can’t have you both losing your cool. I’m looking at _you_ , Nanita.”

“Hey!” Nani cried.

“I’m chill, Ave,” Raj said. “I’ve sworn off drinking until the wedding, anyway.”

“God, why?” Avery asked.                       

Raj smiled deviously. “Strengthens your libido.”

Avery scrunched her nose in disgust “Ew.”

“Can we go now?” Nani asked, throwing her hands down.

“I’m not done yet. Please keep your hands raised.”

Nani rolled her eyes and put her hands up again.

“Repeat after me— _I will not bother the pretty celebrities for autographs_.”

Nani and Raj repeated the oath verbatim.

“ _I will not pitch any stupid movie ideas_.”

Avery’s friends repeated her words.

“ _I will_ not _do anything to jeopardize my dear friend Avery’s career_.”

Nanita rolled her eyes as she mumbled the oath.

“Finally— _I will keep what happens here tonight between us. Under penalty of death_.”

“Under penalty of death,” Raj and Nani repeated.

“Now swear on Krishna,” Avery said.

Nani lowered her hands. “That’s offensive, Aves.”

“Then swear on Daddy-ji.”

Nani’s face became stricken. Nani’s mother insisted she keep a portrait of her late father in their apartment. It was adorned with a garland of marigolds above her bed. Nani usually covered it up with a sheet when Raj came over, but when times were tough and she thought no one was around, Nani prayed to Daddy-ji for guidance and miracles.

“I swear on Daddy-ji,” Nanita said.

And despite her obsessive nature with celebrity culture, Avery could tell her friend meant it. She smiled, thanked them, and led them on down the war path once again.

The bouncers outside the karaoke bar stopped Avery and her friends at the door, but as soon as she flashed her ID, they welcomed them inside. It was only 8:30, but already Ruby Blues was packed with people. Most of them Avery had never seen before, decked in suits and pretty dresses, holding glasses of champagne as they laughed and talked. A tech crew was setting up the karaoke stage towards the back. Waiters snaked through the crowd with trays of food and drinks. A disco ball hung in the center of the bar on the ceiling. Silver and gold streamers hung between pillars. Avery trembled with excitement.

They left their coats at the check-in. As they entered the fray, Avery turned slightly and gave Nani and Raj one last “please be good” look. Nani slipped her arm into her fiancée’s and held him close.

Avery got busy blending in as much as possible. She took a glass of champagne from one of the waiters and scanned the large pub for anyone who looked familiar. She spotted Louise Brealy having a drink at the bar with a young man. A few crew members from the _Sherlock_ set were interspersed throughout, but the man of the hour was mysteriously absent.

Nani tugged on Avery’s arm and pointed across the pub. “Is that Andrew Scott?” she cried.

Avery squinted. Sure enough, in the corner next to a fetching man with a red blazer, the man who played Moriarty sipped a pint and laughed. Avery had never met him before, but she knew that he and Benedict were good mates. He was even handsomer in person than on TV—a bit on the short side compared to Ben—but his winter stubble made him look rugged and sexy, even when he was playfully pushing his gentleman friend.

“Bloody hell,” Nani sighed. “Is he single?”

“Here we go,” Raj said, rolling his eyes.

Avery snorted a laugh in her drink. “You’re not exactly his type, Nan.”

Though Andrew had yet to officially announce it, Benedict had made Avery privy to the fact that his dear friend was playing for the other team.

“Because I’m Indian?” Nani said. She didn’t play the race card often, but when she did, she hammered it home. “Typical.”

“No, because yohave a vagina,” Avery explained.

Nani’s mouth flew open.

“C’mon, Nan,” Raj said, plucking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, “even I knew that.”

“You’re shitting me!” Nani cried.

Avery pointed sternly to her friend. “Under penalty of death,” she warned.

“C’mon, love, let’s mingle,” Raj said, taking his distressed fiancé’s arm. He gave Avery a wink and led her through the crowd.

Avery finished her drink, sighed, and continued to scan the room for her boss. The hand that kept the white box close to her side was getting sweaty. She wanted to be rid of it as soon as possible, if only to not feel embarrassed by it anymore. Just as she was about to take the hunt into the heart of darkness, someone tapped her on the shoulder. Avery turned, and Amanda was smiling with her arms outstretched.

“Hey!” Avery laughed, giving Amanda and tight hug. “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” Amanda said, giving Avery a peck on the cheek. “You look great!”

“So do you!” Avery said. The lovely blonde wore a form-fitting green dress and a stunning diamond bracelet. Her partner, who stood behind her, was dashing in a gray wool jacket and red tie.

“Heya, love,” Martin said, leaning in to give Avery a hug. When he pulled away, he eyed the box in her hand. “What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Avery said, hiding it behind her back. “How was your Christmas?”

“Wonderful,” Amanda said. “We won’t be staying long tonight, though, we promised the kids we’d watch Big Ben with them at midnight.”

“Where’s our host?” Martin asked.

Avery looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know, I was just going to look.” She glanced back at Martin. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Forget it,” Martin said. “You’re off duty tonight.” He pointed to his girlfriend. “Wine, darling?”

“Just a glass,” Amanda said, then whispered to Avery, “Any more and I’ll be slurring Pat Benatar into the mic up there.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Avery said, grinning.

“Any chance you’ll be singing tonight?” Amanda asked.

Avery shook her head. “Maybe just once.”

She would come to regret those words in exactly two hours and fourteen minutes.

0000000

Avery squeezed through the crowd towards the other end of the pub. She had fully lost Raj and Nani and left Amanda and Martin to mingle with people they knew. As Avery rounded a pillar, she bumped into a man, spilling his cocktail.

“I’m so sorry!” Avery cried.

The man turned. It was Andrew Scott.

“Oh holy fuck,” she blurted.

Andrew smiled. “Y’okay, dear?” he asked.

Avery nodded. “I’m terribly sorry, let me get you another drink.”

“It’s all right,” the actor said. “Really, no harm done.” His thick Irish accent rolled off his tongue like caramel.

“Ehm, I’m Avery Lorris, Benedict’s PA.” She stuck her hand out for him to shake.

“Oh, I’ve heard about you,” Andrew said, shaking her hand. “Ben’s told me a lot about you.”

“Has he?”

Andrew’s hand was sticky from his spilled drink but Avery didn’t mind. The actor had a relaxed, almost humble way about him that made him easy to talk to.

“He says you’re one of the best PA’s he’s ever had,” Andrew went on. “Damn shame I didn’t snatch you up first.”

“You couldn’t afford her,” a man behind Avery said.

Avery knew that baritone voice anywhere. She smiled and turned. Benedict stood behind her, wearing a black suit and tie, his hair combed back, and a bright smile that was terribly infectious.

“There you are,” she said.

“Here I am,” he agreed.

“Don’t I get a hello?” Andrew said.

Ben broke his gaze from Avery and went to give his friend a hug. “You’ve gotten fat,” he said to Andrew.

The Irishman laughed and pushed Benedict’s shoulder. “Piss off. Where’s Martin, anyway?”

“He’s at the bar with Amanda,” Avery said. “I just saw them.”

“Better go say hello.” Andrew held out his hand for Avery. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Lorris. Come find me again and I’ll have that drink.”

Avery shook his hand and agreed.

Andrew gave Ben a wink, a slap on the shoulder, and disappeared into the crowd.

Avery turned to her boss and sighed. “Quite the turnout,” she said.

“I’m glad you came,” Ben said. “Where are your friends?”

Avery rolled her eyes. “Probably stalking poor Louise. Nani’s dying to meet you.”

Ben laughed. “I’m sure she’ll find me. I stick out like a sore thumb.”

Avery smiled up at her boss. If it was possible, he was even more handsome since she last saw him a few weeks ago. The Christmas break did wonders for him—he looked relaxed and happy and fully charged. He stared at Avery with an unwavering smile, eyeing her up and down as though she were dripping with diamonds. He noticed the box in her hand and pointed to it.

“What’s that?”

“Oh.” Avery blushed and held it out to him. “It’s your Christmas present. I probably should have waited until next week—”

Ben took the box from her hand and opened it. He pushed aside the white tissue paper and grinned madly when he saw what was inside. “This is for me?” he asked.

Avery’s heart thudded in her chest. As he pulled the chunky orange scarf from the box, Avery realized how awful and childish it actually was. There were gaps in the knit and loose yarn hanging off the sides. For a first-time knitting project, it wasn’t half bad. For a gift meant for a sexy celebrity, it was mortifying.

“You made this?” Ben asked.

Avery looked at her feet. “Unfortunately.”

“It’s fantastic!” Ben said. He set the box on the floor and wound the scarf around his neck.

Avery noticed a few people looking and blushed harder. “You don’t have to—”

“I love the color,” Benedict said, studying the scarf in his hands.

“It’s rubbish,” Avery admitted. “Really, you don’t have to pretend to like it. I can get some something el—”

Ben put his hands on Avery shoulder and smiled at her genuinely. “It’s the best gift I’ve gotten this year.” He leaned in and kissed Avery’s cheek. “Thank you,” he said.

Avery chuckled, rubbed the back of her neck, and lowered her eyes. Now she was sure that people were looking at both her and Benedict. If he stuck out like a sore thumb before, the orange scarf advertised his whereabouts like a traffic cone.

Ben surprised Avery by taking her hand. “Can I get you a drink?”

Avery smiled and nodded. “That’d be great.”

He kept the scarf on as he led her towards the bar.

“Will you be singing tonight?” Avery asked him.

Ben chuckled. “Only after about five pints and a shot of whiskey.”

He would come to regret those words in exactly two hours and thirty-two minutes.


	11. New Year's Eve Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nani and Raj finally meet Benedict. Andrew Scott sings a song fit for a "queen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this party will be in three parts. Also, sorry for the horrible pun in the description. Thanks for reading, guys! :)

 

  


When the karaoke stage was finally set up and the clock struck exactly 9:03, Benedict got up on stage, tapped the mic, and made an announcement. He was still wearing the orange scarf Avery knitted for him.

“Hello, hello! Thank you all so much for coming. Erm, I hope everyone is ready to preform, because we have thousands of song to choose from, and I know for a fact only a handful of you tossers can carry a tune—”

“Speak for yourself, boy-o!” Andrew Scott shouted from the crowd.

Ben pointed in the general direction of his friend. “Who invited this Irish bastard?”

The crowd laughed and cheered. Avery was leaning against a pillar with a mojito in hand. Nani and Raj were close by.

“I’d like to thank Ruby Blue for hosting this event,” Benedict continued. “They’ve been very generous with their time and the space, so please let’s give them a hand.”

The throng of people clapped.

“First drink is on me,” Ben said, “after that, you’re on your own. Please tip your servers well, they’re working very hard tonight and probably put up with a lot of shit from you all.” Benedict paused, his eyes sweeping the room, then he shrugged and said, “Okay, that’s all. We’ll be singing into the New Year, so have fun! Cheers!”

The crowd clapped, whistled, and cheered. The DJ set himself up and explained the rules—one song at a time, songs must be written down and given to the DJ, and drunken stripping was expressly forbidden. He received jeers for the last rule. The first on deck was a man named Timothy, a producer of some such in a snazzy black coat and pink tie. He started off the night by crooning _Don’t You Want Me Baby_ by Human League, complete with cheesy finger-pointing and pelvic thrusts. Avery would have been mortified if she wasn’t so blissfully buzzed on her mojito.

Nani leaned in and said in Avery’s ear, “When are you getting up there?”

Avery held up her drink. “After three more of these.” She looked to her left and spotted the ugly orange scarf weaving through the crowd. Benedict approached them with a great smile.

“How was that?” he shouted over the music.

“Lovely!” Avery said. “You’ll run quite a tab tonight, though.”

“I know. I regret it already.” He nodded his head at Nani and Raj. “Are these your friends?”

“Oh!” Avery turned and took Nani’s arm. The poor girl stared at Benedict as though he were the Holy Grail dipped in chocolate and covered in emeralds. “This is my roommate, Nanita.”

Ben stuck out his hand and smiled. “Nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Sherlock Holmes,” Nani said. She blinked and shook her head. “I mean . . . Sorry, I mean—I-I know who you are—that is, I’ve seen your face on telly . . .”

Ben chuckled. “Thank you for coming,” he said, leaning in to give her a hug. “You look lovely.”

Nani stiffened, her eyes bulging like saucers as she stared helplessly at Avery. When he pulled away, Nanita started giggling uncontrollably. She put her hand over her eyes as if staring at him any longer would turn her into a pillar of salt.

“What are you doing, Nan?” Avery asked.

“Sorry, I just . . .” Nani snorted an awkward laugh. “I’m just so _nervous_.”

Avery squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed, and decided to let Raj calm the scene a bit. “This is Nani’s fiancé, Rajime.”

Raj, thankfully, was a lot more composed when shaking Benedict’s hand. “Cheers,” he said. “I don’t watch _Sherlock_ , but I thought you were a proper git in _Atonement_.”

 _Fuck_ , Avery thought. _We were doing so well_.

Ben, however, laughed and said, “Thanks. Buy you a drink?”

“Nah, I insist. I’ll be a hero to Nanita—the man who bought Benedict Cumberbatch a  . . .?”

“Scotch. Neat.”

Raj snapped his fingers at the celebrity. “Right. Be back in a tick.” He disappeared into the crowd towards the bar.

Benedict turned to Avery, who was still trying to control Nani. “I like him,” he said. He glanced at his PA then back at the giggling Indian woman. “Is she going to be all right?”

“I’m fine!” Nani croaked. She cleared her throat and shook her head, that nervous smile still tugging on her full lips. “Sorry. I’m okay.”

Avery rolled her eyes. She motioned to her boss. “You don’t have to keep wearing that.”

Benedict touched the scarf around his neck. “You don’t think I look dashing in it?”

_♪ Don’t you want me ohhhhhh ohhh ohhhhhhhhh! ♫_

“Yes.” Avery said, smiling. “You look very handsome.”

Ben grinned, his eyes wandering over Avery’s face. Nani had her hands over her mouth, first to keep from erratically giggling, but now to stop from swooning at the eye-sex these two were giving each other. If she were watching them on telly, she would have shouted at the screen for them to just shag already.

Finally, Ben nodded and said, “Better see about that drink.” He touched Avery’s shoulder. “Have fun.”

“You too,” Avery said.

When he disappeared into the throng of people, Nani buried her face in Avery’s shoulder and squealed. “I can die!” she yelled. “I can bloody die now!”

“That went better than expected,” Avery laughed.

“He’s so handsome!” Nani exclaimed. “God, he’s like a marble statue that I just want to bugger all night.”

Avery hollered with laughter. She downed the rest of her drink, hiked her dress further up her boobs, and walked confidently to the bar.

0000000

The scarf eventually came off of Benedict’s neck, not because he was actively trying to get rid of it, but because people kept taking it from him and wearing it themselves. Avery didn’t know whether to be flattered or horrified that her creation was making the rounds of the crowd that night, but Ben assured her they were wearing it because they loved it. Just like him.

“Your friends are great,” Ben said to Avery.

It was half an hour later and Nani and Raj were at the bar chatting with Louisa Brealy. Avery sat alone at a table a few steps up until Benedict found her. He sat down with his second scotch and shouted over the loud music of someone butchering Bon Jovi.

“Thanks for inviting them,” Avery responded. “Sorry about Nan, she’s a bit star-struck.”

“Naw, she’s lovely,” Ben assured. “I really like Raj. He’s a funny guy. How long have they been together?”

“About three years. Nani’s mum tried to matchmake her with some bloke from Chelsea, but Raj came into her work one day and they hit it off. He’s so darling towards her.”

Benedict smiled and nodded, gazing out at the crowd of people—half of whom he didn’t even recognized. He looked at Avery. She was gorgeous as always tonight, her hair falling in wisps across the nape of her neck, pink lipstick still intact on her lips. She seemed to blend naturally with the crowd, as if she had been mucking with celebrities her whole life. Andrew told him how frazzled she was initially around him, but assured Benedict that she was exactly as wonderful as he described.

“Will you sing?” Ben asked.

Avery leaned in. The music was too loud for her to hear. “Eh?”

Benedict turned his lips closer to her ear. She smelled fantastic. “Will you be singing tonight?”

Avery giggled. His breath tickled her ear. “Depends. Is there a raise in it for me?”

“Yeah, I’ll promote you to Head Umbrella Holder.”

Avery laughed.

“Fine. Three extra quid an hour and not a farthing more.”

Avery playfully pushed his shoulder. Maybe it was music. Maybe it was the buzzing atmosphere. Maybe it was the delicious mojito’s she kept drinking, but one thing was for sure—Avery wanted to spend as much time by Benedict’s side as possible tonight. He was just too good of company to let go.

“I’ll only sing if _you_ sing,” Avery said.

“Tell you what,” Benedict said, “If Andrew gets up on stage in the next half hour, we’ll both sing at least one song tonight. Deal?”

Avery looked her boss up and down with a smile. She nodded. “Deal.”

The DJ jumped up on stage after Bon Jovi faded out and announced the next singer. “Please give it up for Mr. Andrew Scott!”

Avery’s mouth hung open. She looked at Benedict, who was smiling deviously. “You knew that was going to happen!” she cried, beating at him teasingly with her hands. He blocked her blows and laughed, apologizing without a trace of sincerity.

“Ello, peasants,” Andrew said up on stage. He had taken his jacket off and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. Avery couldn’t quite tell if he was drunk yet, but the night was still young and he was, after all, impeccably Irish. He held the microphone on the stand as though he were going to make love to it. “Many of you here see me as a sex god—which is correct . . .”

The audience laughed and jeered at the same time.

“But the truth is,” Andrew continued, “I’m just a simple man looking for love.”

The music sounded. Queen’s _Somebody to Love_ blared in the speakers and the audience cheered.

“ _Caaaaan . . . an-ee-bodeeeeee . . . fiiiiiiind meeeEEEEEeeee . . .  somebody toooooo_ —”

“ _Looooooooove_!” the audience finished.

Avery laughed as the music swelled and Andrew sang. He gripped the mic stand and crooned passionately, hitting the high and low notes with easy, fumbling sometimes with the lyrics and finding his way again with the crowd helping him along. If someone has slapped a mustache on his face, he would have been a dead ringer for Freddy Mercury—sexy, ethereal, powerful, and strangely untouchable in his confidence.

Benedict stood from the table and outstretched his hand. “Care to dance?” he asked Avery.

“What, to _this_?” she exclaimed.

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, leading her down the small stairs and across the crowd with ease. A small dance floor had already opened up near the stage, so Ben and Avery were certainly not the only ones dancing.

“ _I work hard_ ,” Andrew sang, “ _evvvv-ry day of my life . . . I woooork till I ache in my boooones_ —”

Ben twirled Avery around and pulled her close in a waltz.

“ _And at the end . . . I take hooooome my hard-earned pay—all-on-my-owwwwwwn_!”

“ _I get down_!” the crowd sang along, “ _On my knees_! _And IIIIIII start to pray_!”

Andrew: “ _Till the teeeeeears run dooooown from my eyeeeees—LOOOOORD_!”

“ _Somebody_ ,” Avery sang.

“ _Oooooh, somebody_!” Ben chimed in, twirling her again.

Crowd: “ _Can aaaaaaany-boooooody find meeeeee . . ._ ”

The big crescendo went to Andrew: “ _SOMEBODY TO LOOOOOOOOOOVE_!”

Benedict dipped Avery and she laughed. Andrew belted into the microphone, tilting it down like a lover in his arms, sweating and smiling and hamming it up. The audience went mad and clapped. As he continued, Ben twirled with Avery, bumping into people and stepping on each other’s toes. Avery spotted Martin dancing with Amanda and called out for them. Martin fox-trotted towards them with Amanda.

“Cheers!” he yelled over the music. “Fine night, yeah?”

“Did he drag you out here as well?” Avery asked Amanda.

“No, I made him join me!” Amanda laughed.

“You best lay off my partner,” Ben warned his friend.

“Not a chance in hell,” Martin said. In a fluid motion, he exchanged Amanda for Avery and clumsily tangoed with her to the other end of the dance floor.

Avery laughed, tripping and struggling to hang on to the shorter man’s hand and shoulder. Andrew continued to sing, the audience going wild as he kicked and spun on stage.

“Flashy prick, isn’t he?” Martin said.

“He’s fantastic!” Avery exclaimed.

“I was talking about Ben!”

Avery laughed. “So was I!”

Martin laughed and twirled Avery around. When the guitar solo of the song came up and Andrew was able to catch his breath, Benedict and Amanda found their respective partners and demanded to switch, not the way it was, but with Ben dancing with Martin.

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask,” Martin said, bowing to his friend.

Amanda took Avery’s hands and danced with her. “Is he behaving?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Ben!”

Avery scrunched her brows together and pulled herself closer to Amanda. “Yeah, why?”

Amanda pulled apart and glanced at Martin and Benedict doing a very poor impression of Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly. She tugged Avery closer and whispered in her ear. “Ben told me something earlier.”

“ _Somedaaaaay I’m gonna be freeeee_!” Andrew sang. “ _LOOOOOOORD_!”

The song dropped off, the background mumbling the lyrics, “ _Find. Me. Somebody to loooove_.” Andrew _oooohed_ and danced during the measure break. Avery watched as Martin and Ben laughed and watched their friend on stage, having given up their dancing foray. She stopped dancing and said to Amanda, “What did he say?”

Amanda stared at Avery. A small grin played on her lips. Avery must have looked terrified, because Amanda reminded her of a mother trying to convince her bewildered child that there were no monsters under the bed. She shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

The crowd joined: “ _Find. Me. Somebody to loooOOooove_ —”

“ _Find. Me. Somebody to loooOOooove_ ,” Andrew sang.

Amanda broke from Avery and rejoined Martin. She kissed her partner and leaned against his chest, swaying with him like they were grade school sweethearts.

“ _Find. Me. Somebody to loooOOooove—_ ”

“We’re not done yet,” Ben said. He took Avery’s hand, kissed it palm-down, and pulled her in close in another intimate waltz.

Avery’s heart raced. What had Benedict said to Amanda? And what did it have to do with him “behaving” himself? Did he have a tendency to charm everyone at parties and make _everyone_ feel special?

The crowd sang, “ _Can aaaaany-boooooody find meeeeeee . ._ _._ ”

Andrew: “ _Somebody tooooo . . ._ ”

“ _Loooooove_ ,” Benedict whispered, looking directly at Avery.

They had stopped dancing. His hand was still in her’s, the other delicately on her waist. She held onto his shoulder—he was so tall and so good-looking and he smelled so incredible, like laundry and nutmeg and scotch, and he was looking at her with such warmth in his eyes—and Avery felt the need to whisper every secret she held in her heart. That she fancied him. That she loved the way he smelled and the wrinkles that formed around his mouth when he smiled. That he was kind and gentlemanly and she ached to know what he tasted like in every sense of the word.

Avery opened her mouth to speak, but was drowned out by the cheers and applause of the crowd as Andrew took a bow on stage. As he stepped down and the DJ took his place at the mic, Benedict released Avery slowly and clapped for his friend.

“Next up,” the DJ said, “we have Ms. Avery Lorris.”

Avery’s eyes widened and she looked around. She hadn’t out her name on the list. She hadn’t even taken a look at any of the songbooks placed around the pub at the tables. It must have been a mistake of some kind.

“She’ll be singing _Call Your Girlfriend_ by Robyn,” the DJ said.

 _Fuckity fuck_ , Avery thought. Only one person in the world knew what song—if any—Avery would sing in karaoke. It was a song she and Nani learned the dance moves to one drunken rainy night while Raj was away in New Delhi on business.

She could have killed her. Nani had put Avery’s name on the list.


	12. New Year's Eve Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night closes with a song from Ben, a deep chat with Andrew Scott, and a shocking action by Avery. Nothing will be the same when the clock strikes 12.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice long chapter for my darlings! You guys deserve it! Here's the link to the song Avery's sings for reference. It'll change your life.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F6ImxY6hnfA

“Avery Lorris, c’mon up, love!” the DJ said.

Avery looked at Ben, her eyes pleading for relief, and he only smiled and clapped. People around her looked in her direction because Ben was looking at her, and a path formed to the stage just for her.

“Bloody hell,” Avery mumbled, making her way to the stage. She’d get up there, all right. She’d curse Nani out and have her gorgeous Indian ass brought up to the stage to be humiliated right alongside her. If Avery was going down, Nani would be going down with her.

Avery climbed the small stairs to the stage. The crowd clapped and whistled. Avery put her hand up to block the stage lights and searched for her flatmate. In the back, next to the bar, Nani was clapping and laughing. She pointed to Avery and whispered something to Raj.

The DJ handed Avery the cordless mic. On the small screen in front of her, the song already started up. “Wait, wait!” Avery tried to say. “I-I’m not a singer—”

The techno beats thumped—one measure, two measures, three measure—and Avery had no choice but to open her mouth and get it over with.

“ _Call your giiiiiirlfriend . . . .” Avery sang. “It’s time you haaaaad the taaaaalk . . ._ ”

She knew her voice was too high, too “pitchy” as the professionals called it, and she couldn’t see the audience but Avery was almost sure all of them were cringing and plugging their ears is disgust. But something else happened as she opened her mouth to sing. There was an undeniable freedom that came with singing in front of these rich, posh strangers. Avery never felt it when she did karaoke with Nani in the dive bars—they were too drunk and too giddy and loved being loud and awful. But now, standing in front of hundreds of people she didn’t know and probably would never see again, Avery felt like she could make a fool of herself and be okay. She closed her eyes to block out the world, knowing the words by heart, and let the song take her away.

“ _Give your reeeeeeasons . . .  say it’s not her faaaaault . . . But youuuuu just met somebody newww—”_

And then the swell of the beat took over, and Avery tried to remember how Robyn looked in the music video—alone in the warehouse with nothing but the lights and her fantastically quirky outfit—pensive and thoughtful at first, then determined and unrestricted as she began dancing.

And by God, Avery would dance to this.

“ _Tell her not to get Up. Set. Second-guessing. Every-thing you saaaaaid and dooooone—_ ”

She had watched the music video over and over until she and Nani could do the dance. It wasn’t hard in the beginning; there was a lot of two-stepping, gliding, and head-bobbing. The cordless microphone made it easy for Avery to dance around. But the best part was how the crowd before her seemed to be cheering and clapping for her.

“ _And then when she get Up. Set. Tell her how you never meant to huuuurt no ooooone_ —”

Avery’s moves were precise and perfect. She may have been clumsier than Robyn, and her dress didn’t allow for the same kind of freedom of movement, but when Avery twirled like a ballerina, the crowd cheered louder. She knew it wasn’t for her singing. It was all about the moves.

“ _And you tell her that the oooonly waaaay her heaaaaart will mend . . . is wheeeen she leeearns to loooove again. And it Won’t. Make. Sense. Right now, but you’re stiiiill her frieeeend . . . and then you leter her down eeeeeasy_ . . .”

Avery managed to glimpse at the crowd. She squinted and put her hand like a visor on her forehead. Benedict was in the audience next to Martin and Amanda. The look on his face could only be described as amused awe.

As the song went on, there were some moves from Robyn’s video that Avery just couldn’t copy, like humping the floor and doing that spindly thing with her legs, but she improvised her own moves and laughed. It was pure liberation.

In the middle of the song, Amanda turned to Ben and said, “She’s so adorable!”

Ben smiled. He couldn’t tear his eyes off of his PA cutting it up on the stage. “I’ve never seen this side of her!”

“She can’t sing for shit,” Martin said, “but bloody hell, can she dance.”

“Yeah,” Ben agreed.

It was in this exact moment that something happened within Benedict. Watching his lovely PA up on stage—with her meticulously-curled hair and insensible heels—it was as if she had turned from an insecure and shy violet to the very sun which powered the earth. She was bright, dazzling, fiery, and commanded the attention of everyone around her. Her voice may have cracked when she sang, but her earnest face and stunning dance moves enthralled Ben like nothing else. Something whimpered inside of him, like the coo of a deprived baby, and warmth spread throughout his body. His muscles loosened and his eyelids grew heavier as he watched Avery dance. Ben had been so worried about telling Amanda that thing earlier, but after seeing Avery dance on stage like a clumsy goddess, he was happy to learn that his feelings weren’t wrong.

_He was falling in love with her._

The song finally ended and Avery was out of breath, dizzy, sweaty, and utterly ecstatic. The crowd clapped and cheered, whether politely or earnestly, Avery didn’t know. She smiled, thanked them, and scooted off stage as the DJ took the mic back.

Avery made a b-line for Benedict, but was stopped along the way by Nani. “Oh my God, you were so _great_!” Nani cried, pulling her friend into a tight hug.

“I’m going to massacre you, Nan,” Avery laughed.

“I can’t believe you remember all the moves!” Nani released Avery. “I thought you were going to freeze up!”

“Payback’s a bitch, Nan. You better pray I don’t throw your name in the pot.”

“Raj and I are already on the list,” Nani said smugly. “Can’t embarrass us tonight.”

“Challenge accepted!” Avery said, raising her voice as the music of the next singer started up.

Benedict appeared behind Nani. He put his hand on the lovely woman’s shoulder and said, “Are you up soon?”

Nani jumped and turned to the celebrity’s sultry voice. “Ah . . . yeah, um, R-Raj and I are, uh—”

“Ben, did you know that Nani is afraid of pickles?” Avery said.

The star scrunched his brows, then looked at Nani. “You _what_?”

Nani’s mouth flew open. She turned and stared daggers at her friend. “You cow!”

Avery shrugged and smiled. “Payback, love.”

Nani was fighting a smile as she shook her head at her friend. “You’re officially demoted to wiping my Grandma-ji’s ass at my wedding.”

“Love you.” Avery winked at her friend.

Nani finally smiled and turned, disappearing into the crowd. Avery laughed and put her hand on her forehead. She was still coming down from her high of being on stage. “God, what you must think of me.”

“You were brilliant,” Benedict said. “I’ve never seen someone dance like that.”

“Ugh,” Avery’s face warmed and she couldn’t stop smiling. It was one thing to be up on stage, free from the accusatory glares of the audience in the dark crowd, but it was quite another to hear her boss say these embarrassing things first-hand.

Benedict leaned in and said in Avery’s ear, “Do you want to step outside for some air?”

Avery nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Ben ushered Avery through the crowd towards the doors to the smoking patio. As they left, Amanda noticed the pair and turned to Martin.

“You owe me fifty more quid,” she said to him.

“Eh?” Martin followed her line of sight just as Avery and Ben walked out the side doors. He rolled his eyes. “Put it on my sodding tab.”

0000000

The wintry night air cooled Avery’s sweaty body. She knew they wouldn’t be able to stay out long, not with the cold and the paparazzi buzzing around the place, but it was nice to get some fresh air in her lungs. Benedict, however, had a differing idea of what “fresh air” was. He pulled a cigarette case from his jacket pocket, popped one out, and stuck it in his mouth. He asked another man who was standing by the outdoor heater for a light and the lad obliged. Ben thanked him, stuffed his cigarette case back in his jacket, and took a long drag.

Avery watched him, leaning against the frigid steel railing. The only scenery before them was the brick wall of the restaurant next door and the long alleyway which led to the street. Benedict was the only thing worth looking at outside.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Avery said.

Ben perched his cigarette between two fingers and looked at her. Avery nodded to the stick. Benedict scrunched his nose and nodded. “Yeah, I know. I try to stop, especially when I’m filming. It’s a terrible burden.” He took another drag, then stopped when he noticed Avery had goosebumps. “Shit, you must be freezing.”

In a fluid motion, Ben stuck the cigarette between his lips, took his suit coat off, and draped it around Avery’s shoulders. Avery laughed, her cheeks blossoming red. “Thank you,” she said, holding it tightly around her chest. There was a pause as she inhaled his earthly smell, her head swooning, then she said, “Was I really okay up there? I know I can’t sing—”

“Oh, no. You can’t sing at _all_ ,” Ben laughed.

Avery chuckled and rolled her eyes. “At least my dancing was good, yeah? Bet I gave Andrew a run for his money.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Benedict looked around the patio in fake worry. “There can only be one Dancing Queen tonight, after all.”

“I concede the throne,” Avery giggled.

Ben laughed. He took a few more drags, careful to blow the smoke away from Avery’s face. He leaned against the railing with Avery, the cigarette between his fingers. “Are you having a good time?” he asked seriously.

Avery nodded and grinned. “I’m having a blast. I can’t wait to see you up there.”

“A few more drinks, maybe.” Benedict eyed Avery up and down, a smile curling his lips. “That jacket looks good on you. You should wear my clothes more often.”

Avery bit her lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. Was it a simple compliment, or was he flirting? She couldn’t quite tell. She was, however, very aware of her sudden increased heart rate, her dry throat, her sweaty palms even in the cold night air. He had this ability and she almost resented him for it, the ability to turn her into a giggling schoolgirl with the flick of a wrist.

“Erm—are _you_ having a good time?” Avery asked, changing the subject.

Ben snuffed his cigarette out on the ground. “Yeah, very much. Shame Martin and Amanda have to leave early.”

“Yeah.” Avery glanced at her shoes, then slowly looked back up at Benedict. “Speaking of Amanda—” Avery’s voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “She told me that you were talking about me to her. Good things, I hope.”

It was Ben’s turn to look at his shoes. His cheeks turned red, but it very well might have been from the cold. A flash of panic crossed his face, as though he remembered he had left the stove on, then he smiled at Avery in a wholly unconvincing fashion.

“Yes, um . . . we were just chatting, catching up about the holidays. She likes the scarf you knitted, by the way.”

“Oh, good.” Avery smiled. She could tell he was holding back. Ben always avoided eye contact when he was telling even the smallest lie. “Anything else?”

Benedict’s ears burned. She was on to him. He should have known by now that Avery was good at reading his expressions—part of her job was knowing what he needed at any given time. They spent enough time together, she could probably guess how many eyelashes he had. It was no use trying to pull a fast one on her.

Ben swallowed hard and slowly raised his eyes to Avery’s. “I told her . . . I, uh— ” He laughed nervously. Ten-minute monologues weren’t this hard to get out. He drew a breath and let it out slowly, a stream of white condensation billowing from his mouth like a dragon. He looked Avery square in the eyes and said with the utmost sincerity, “You’re an amazing person, Avery Lorris. It’s a privilege having you in my life.”

Avery blinked slowly, her lips parting. It may not have been a confession of undying love, but it was the most flattering thing anyone had ever said to her. It meant more than any trite sonnet or regurgitated love song lyrics.

All Avery could say was, “Thank you.” And she meant it.

Ben smiled, rubbed her arms to keep her warm, and said, “Come, let’s get you back inside.”

0000000

As Avery looked in the mirror in the lady’s room of the pub, she told herself that Benedict was most likely telling the whole truth. She believed him when he said she was amazing—she was a damn good assistant and he had no reason to lie—and the word ‘privilege’ could mean many things. She admitted to feeling a little let-down by his confession, especially when Avery tried putting all the pieces together. The expensive book he had gotten her for Christmas, the willingness to take care of her when Charlie was a twat, their late-evening chats and coffee breaks between scenes on set. All of these things could be interpreted in two ways:

1)      Ben fancied her.

2)      Ben was a good employer who took care of his assistants out of the goodness of his heart.

Both were entirely possible, but Avery was kidding herself if she didn’t favor one over the other.

“Oi! Y’done yet?” a voice snapped.

Avery looked in the mirror at the mile-long line of girls behind her. They were waiting for the loo, some terribly impatient that she was hogging one of the three mirrors. The girl who called to her was a drunk chav in a skin-tight mini dress and gobs of makeup on her eyes. Avery wondered who let someone like her wander into the party.

“Sorry,” Avery said. She turned the faucet on to wash her hands and glimpsed at the chav girl in the mirror.

“I gotta piss like a bleedin’ racehorse,” the girl said to her friend ahead of to her. “That dyke at the bar is mixing weak-fucking drinks.”

Avery rolled her eyes and reached for a paper towel.

“Benedict still ain’t said hi to me.” The chav put her hand on the wall to steady herself. “Too good for us, innit? He’s got a greasy horse face, anyway.”

The chav girl laughed and her friend only moved forward to the next stall. Avery threw the used paper towel in the trash and turned to the girl, practically trembling with rage.

“What’s your name?” Avery said.

The drunk girl squinted at Avery. “What’s it t’you?”

“What’s wrong, too pissed to remember?”

“I’m Amber,” the girl sneered.

“And who let you in, Amber?”

“Eh?”

“Who let you into the party?”

Amber laughed. “Me uncle’s worker on the _Sherlock_ set. Got me in last-minute. Now get outta m’face, ya sopping cunt.”

“So you insult the man whose party you’re crashing,” Avery said. “There’s a reason he’s not talking to you. A) He doesn’t give a flying fuck about some chav teeny-bopper with two-quid lip gloss, and B) You don’t have the class to even breathe the same air as him.”

The women waiting in line “oohed” at Avery’s jabs. Amber looked around and pushed Avery’s shoulder. “Wadda _you_ care?”

Rage washed over Avery’s body from Amber’s pushed, but she let it glide over her. She took Amber’s arm, pulled her close, and whispered, “If you ruin this party for him, or anyone else, I will find you and I will tear all of your tacky hair out. Do you understand me?”

“You’re not his fuckin’ mum,” Amber said.

Avery loosened Amber’s arm and pulled away. She smiled. “No. But I _am_ his assistant. And I can have Mr. Cumberbatch personally ruin your entire reputation on television at his next interview. Just try and cross me.”

Avery turned on her heels and walked out of the bathroom to the murmurs of the other women. No one followed. No one yelled after her or clapped in support or spit in her direction. As soon as Avery was out of the bathroom, she regretted ever having talked to Amber.

Avery made her way to the bar. She squeezed past a few men with pints and ordered a double vodka. The bartender who took her order was a woman with short-cropped hair and a ruddy face. Since she was the only woman serving drinks behind the bar, Avery was crushed to learn that she was probably the one Amber had called a dyke.

“Anything else?” the bartender asked.

“No, thank you.” Avery reached in her clutch purse and pulled out a hundred quid. She slid it across the bar to her server. “Just promise me you won’t serve a young girl in a tight purple dress.”

The server cocked her head, then nodded in understanding. “I’m way ahead of you, ma’am.”

Avery toasted to her bartender and downed her drink. Her face twisted in disgust. She ordered another vodka. Then another. Her server, whose name Avery learned was Martha, was happy to keep the drinks coming at no additional cost.

After what felt like twenty minutes, Avery asked for the time. It was almost eleven. The minutes ticked by and the karaoke songs got even more outrageous. Avery carried her drink to a table and plopped down by herself. Martin and Amanda had probably already left, and God knew where Raj and Nani were. A man in a tweed blazer was singing _Hey Jude_ with a martini in hand. Avery snorted a laugh, watching him slur and lean on the microphone stand for support.

“Is this seat taken, darlin’?”

Avery looked up and Andrew Scott stood above her. He had his suit coat draped over one hand, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and a copper drink in hand.

“Oh, sure.” Avery scooted her chair over to give him room.

Andrew placed his coat on the chair back and set his drink on the table. “Lovely night,” he said, sitting. “You were up there earlier, weren’t you?”

“Yes, so were you,” Avery said, wiggling her eyebrows. “You gave quite a show.”

“Why thank you. Cheers.” He raised his glass and drank greedily. “Where’s Ben, anyway?”

“I’m not sure,” Avery said, looking out across the crowd. Her vision was a tad blurry from the drinks. “He’s lovely, innhe? Not horse-faced at all.”

Andrew chuckled. “Certainly not. A crack lad, if I ever saw one.”

Avery snorted and slapped her hand over her mouth. “ _Crack lad_ ,” she giggled. “Oh, you’re so _cute_!” She took Andrew chin in her hand and kissed his cheek.

“Oi, I like you, girlie,” Andrew said. His breath smelled like mint and bug spray. “Cheeky monkey.”

“Sorry,” Avery giggled. “I’ve had a few.”

“S’alright,” Andrew said, leaning back in his chair. “If I were a different man—”

“You’re not different!” Avery exclaimed. How silly of him to debase himself like that. “You’re . . .” The word was floating out there, just out of grasp. “Exceptional!” Yes. Good. Very smart.

“You’re just saying that because I’m rich and handsome and remarkably talented.”

Avery slapped the tabled roared with laughter. Andrew joined her and clinked their glasses together. “Modest as well,” Avery said.

“Did I tell you I won a BAFTA?” Andrew said. “I won a bloody BAFTA. I call Benny up from time to time and say, ‘Oi, prick! I have a BAFTA from your own fecking show! How d’you like that?’”

“What does _he_ say?” Avery asked.

Andrew shrugged. “Mostly he calls me a twat and invites me out for a pint. Can you believe it?”

Avery shook her head. “What a monster.”

Suddenly the audience was clapping and another person jumped up on stage.

“Hey, speak of the devil!” Andrew exclaimed.

Benedict was handed the microphone and he tapped it twice. It looked as though he had downed two more whiskeys before deciding to sing. “Hello, my friends.” Ben leaned on the microphone stand for support. “Erm, this song is for someone very special in the audience tonight. My dad used to sing it to my mum.”

“Aww,” Andrew cooed.

Despite feeling giddy and dizzy and euphoric from the hard vodkas Martha had given her, a twang of fear hit Avery’s stomach. Who was the “special someone” in the audience? Martin and Amanda were already gone, Louise Brealy had hiked over to another party a few blocks away, and unless he and Nani had gotten particularly close within the last hour, Avery couldn’t think who the “special someone” was. She would have to hear the song to make an educated guess.

“ _Why do my thoughts loom so large on me? . . . They seem to stay for day after day . . . And won't disappear, I've tried every way . . .”_

It was The Rolling Stones, _She Smiled Sweetly_. Ben’s voice as a singer was every bit as seductive and gorgeous as his speaking voice. His baritone range was perfect for Mick Jagger’s lower tone of the original song. The karaoke track had a tinny pitch to it, but Ben made it work perfectly.

“ _She smiled sweetly . . . she smiled sweetly . . .  she smiled sweetly, and said don’t worry_.”

“He’s good,” Andrew remarked during the song.

Avery wanted to hush him up so she could hear, but she didn’t dare act so rude. Instead she nodded and said, “He’s got the whole place standing still.” And it was true. Even the bartenders stopped to watch the actor sing.

Ben’s eyes were scanning the crowd, looking for someone.

“ _Where does she hide it . . . inside of her? That keeps her peace most every day_ —”

“I love the New Year,” Andrew mused. “It’s a fresh start. All this shite of the past year is just that—in the past.”

“ _And won’t disappear, my hair’s turning gray_ . . .”

“We’re getting older,” Avery murmured. Part of it was the song that had her so forlorn. Part of it was the drinks that were finally getting to her. Most of it, though, was the painful idea of Ben singing for someone out there other than her. “Can’t keep dawdling,” she continued.

“ _But she smiled sweetly_ —”

“Right you are,” Andrew agreed.

“ _She smiled sweetly_ —”

“I can’t keep regretting not doing things,” Avery said, more to herself than anyone.

“ _She smiled sweetly, and says don’t worry . . . Oh no, no, no_. . .” Ben’s eyes stopped scanning when he found Avery. He smiled, leaning into the microphone as if they were old lovers, and nodded his head towards her. He was so beautiful. So peaceful and sure. As painful as it was knowing she might be wrong, Avery dared to think the song might be for her.

“You okay, love?” Andrew asked.

Avery blinked and looked at him. She hadn’t realized she was crying as Benedict sang. She wiped her eyes and laughed in embarrassment. “Yeah, fine. Sorry. Um, it’s just the drink. I’m one of _those_ drunks.”

Then, as if he understood exactly everything Avery was going through, Andrew put his arm around her, pulled her in close, and kissed the top of Avery’s head. “You’re all right, love,” he whispered. “All right.”

0000000

It was ten minutes to midnight and Avery was frantically searching the crowd for Benedict. Once he had gotten off the stage from his performance, he was whisked away by another guest for a round of shots. In the time since, Avery talked with Andrew some more—about starting over in the New Year, resolving to do things you’ve always wanted to. He confided in hoping to find a long-term partner, and Avery told him she had never learned to swim.

“It’s never too late,” Andrew had said. “Be bold. Go for it.”

And Avery intended to, though not for that particular goal. As she weaved through the crowd, Avery spotted Benedict’s chunky orange sweater. She followed it, a moth to the flame, and was met with Nani and Raj. Nani had it coiled around her neck.

“Hey, there you are!” Nani cried. “Raj and I are just about to go up!”

“Where you been?” Raj asked.

“Uh . . . I, uh—have you seen Benedict?”

“No, why?” Nani asked.

The DJ cut the music on stage. “All right, all right, folks. It’s almost that time. Let’s get Big Ben up on the screen.”

The tech crew had rigged the karaoke screen to broadcast the New Year from the telly. The entire pub turned to the screen and chatted excitedly as the clock ticked down. Waiters buzzed through the crowd with trays of champagne.

Avery took Ben’s scarf from her friend and hugged Nani tightly as though she were going off to war. With what Avery was planning, it almost felt that way. “I love you,” Avery said to her friend.

“I love you too, babe.” Nani patted Avery’s back, then touched her cheek. “You okay? Have you been drinking vodka?”

“Yeah, I . . . just gotta find my boss.”

The crowd was too thick and loud and all Avery wanted to do was sleep. She looked at the screen on the wall. The clock was at three minutes until midnight. Fuckity fuck. Avery turned and headed through the crowd once more.

“Wait!” Nani called. “Aren’t you going to watch it with us?”

But Avery couldn’t hear her. There were too many people and too much talking and not enough time. She had to get to him before midnight, had to tell him before the clock struck twelve and she turned into an asparagus or whatever the bloody hell it was. It was important Ben knew before midnight, before the New Year. A millisecond afterwards and Avery would never forgive herself.

Avery wrapped the scarf around her neck to make herself more visible. It was entirely possible that he was looking for her, too, though Avery didn’t know why. She was probably fooling herself, holding onto a pipe dream that all of this—the book, the song, the jacket, the breakfast trifle and 2am curry—all of it didn’t mean what she thought it meant.

“One minute until the New Year!” The DJ announced. “Everyone have your champagne?”

“Shit!” Avery yelled.

It was hopeless. She was lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces, wearing an ugly scarf she never should have knitted, pining after a man she knew she could never get involved with. He was her boss, for Christ’s sake. This whole eleventh-hour mission was stupid. She should have gone back to the table where Andrew was, toast the New Year with him and keep drinking until the morning light, but his words rang in her ears—“ _Be bold. Go for it_.”

Just as Avery was about to give up her search, a finger tapped her shoulder. She turned. It was Ben. He held two champagne glasses and a surly smile. “Looking for something?” he asked.

Avery took the champagne and smiled.

“Thirty seconds!” The DJ announced.

Ben leaned in and asked, “Did you like my song?”

Avery nodded. “Yes. It was lovely.”

“Good.” Benedict smiled in such a way that wrinkled formed around his eyes and mouth in the most adorable way.

“I need to tell you something,” Avery said.

“Ten seconds!” yelled the DJ.

“I, uh . . .” Avery stared into the man’s brilliant blue eyes. He waited patiently, not even paying attention to the countdown on screen or the excited crowd around him. She had his full attention.

“Seven!”

“I-I wanted to say—”

“Six!”

No, it was stupid! It would ruin her career! He would shoot her down and then—

“Five!”

“I’m just so happy to be here,” Avery said.

“Four!”

Ben smiled. “I’m happy you’re here, too.”

“Three!”

“Avery, what’s wrong? You have tears in your—”

“Two!”

“I-I’m fine, I just—”

“One! _HAPPY NEW YEAR_!”

Avery grabbed Benedict’s jacket lapel and pulled him to her lips. She kissed him hard as confetti fell around them, fireworks blasting on screen and outside the pub in celebration. He didn’t pull away or try to stop the kiss. Ben put a hand carefully on Avery’s waist, his mouth parting to accept her tongue. She dropped her champagne glass and ran her hand through his hair, tugging at it to bring herself closer to him, his mouth, his wandering tongue. She thought she heard a small moan in the back of his throat and it jerked Avery back into reality. She pulled away, their lips making that delightful smacking noise. Their noses were still touching and Benedict’s eyes frantically traveled over Avery’s face.

“Happy New Year,” Avery whispered.


	13. Misgivings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night after the party, a string of miscommunications threatens to jeopardize Avery and Ben's delicate relationship.

Benedict awoke to the sound of his cell phone blaring directly in his ear drum. What was usually a soft _blinglinglinglingling_ was now a **_BLIIIINGBLIIIINGBLIIIIING!!!!_** Something else immediately caught his attention when he woke up—the stench of sour lemonade and pickle juice. He buried his face in the pillow and batted at the end table for his mobile.

Ben pressed the phone to his ear. “Mmphsdfghj,” he mumbled.

“BEN. ARE YOU AWAKE?”

Benedict held the phone away from his ear. Jesus Christ, this person was _loud_! Didn’t they ever hear of ‘inside voices’? Ben turned over onto his side and instantly regretted it. The sun shone directly from the window into his eyes. His body was stiff and achy.

“Have a good time last night, boy-o?” the caller asked.

Ben licked his lips; his tongue felt like sandpaper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Whom may I ask is calling, and can you please whisper?”

The caller laughed. Benedict knew that chuckle anywhere. It was Andrew.

“You’re worse than I thought you’d be,” Ben’s friend said. “Just checking to see if you’re alive after last night.”

_Last night_. Benedict lowered the phone onto the pillow and searched the groggy Sahara of his mind. There was booze aplenty, silly songs on karaoke, a round of purple shots that tasted like Kool-aid . . . and Avery.

“Erm, ah . . .” Ben flipped over onto his back and held the phone to his ear again. “It’s a little fuzzy.”

“Not surprised,” Andrew said. He was munching on something over the phone. He always had a nasty habit of eating crisps whenever he called Ben to chat. “Don’t worry, no one went to hospital or got arrested.”

Ben rubbed his forehead and looked around his room. His suit from last night was scattered along the floor like the shell of an insect. His shoes, for whatever reason, were on the balcony. “You don’t sound ill,” Ben remarked to his friend.

“I’m Irish,” Andrew said simply. “I was drinking Bailey’s from my ma’s tit at the get-go.”

Ben scrunched his nose in disgust. “Please stop talking.”

“How’s Avery?” Andre asked.

Benedict sat up slowly, his bones cracking with each movement. “Avery? Uh . . . I dunno. Why, is she—?”

“You don’t remember?” Andrew laughed.

Ben squeezed his eyes shut. His head throbbed as though his eyeballs were shagging his brain. He searched the barren desert again—Avery singing, Avery dancing exquisitely, Avery wearing his jacket outside and smiling so beautifully and wearing that lovely dress and—

 “Oh, bloody hell,” Ben muttered.

There was a kiss. A damn good one, at that. He couldn’t remember who started it, but he remembered how warm and sweet her tongue felt in his mouth, not to mention the way she tugged on his hair. God, if he had been even a little sober in the moment, he would have been on his knees begging for more from that hair tug. Everything afterwards was a totally blank.

“Saw you both snogging in the crowd,” Andrew said between munching. “Whose idea was that, anyway? Isn’t she your PA?”

Benedict swung his legs over the side of the bed. The cold tile floor comforted him. He did a quick check over his shoulder at the other side of the bed to make sure he was alone. And he was.

“Andy . . . uh, tell me exactly what you remember.”

“Well,” Andrew sighed dreamily. “I kicked arse on karaoke, that much is true. Some chav girl named Amber tried to feel me up. Ugh. Then there was the countdown, of course—”

“Skip ahead, Andy,” Ben snapped. He rubbed his temple for relief.

“Right. I couldn’t tell who initiated it, but after you two kissed, Avery vomited on your shoes. Poor thing. Had to be escorted to the loo by her friend. I think she was out of commission after that.”

“Fucking hell,” Ben grumbled.

He knew something awful had happened. That’s what the sour lemonade and pickle smell was. But it wasn’t the worse thing, not by a long shot. If he was the one to plant a kiss on his assistant, he would never forgive himself. He wasn’t the type to get grabby after drinking, and he must have caught poor Avery by surprise. That’s probably why she tugged on his hair, to get him to stop. Shit, she was probably so humiliated, she was e-mailing her resignation this minute.

“Do you like her?” Andrew asked.

“I—what?”

“Do you _like_ her?” Andrew repeated. “I think you do. You were being sweet on her even before the kiss. I could tell from looking at you. She’s a fine girl, gorgeous as hell.”

“Andy—”

“That might be weird, though. Dating your assistant. You’d never know if she was getting you something because she was your PA, or because she wanted to.”

“I can’t believe this,” Ben groaned.

“Eh, cheer up, darling. I’m certain you couldn’t find anyone better—”

“I’ve got to call her,” Ben said. “Andy, you’re sure that’s what happened last night?”

“Oh, I don’t forget when people hurl. Makes me laugh my arse off.”

A knock sounded at Ben’s front door. He froze, whipping his head to the sound. “Andy, I’ve got to go. I think she’s here.”

“Right. Steady, man. I’ll phone later when you’re alive. Cheers.”

The phone clicked and Andrew hung up. Ben tossed the mobile on his bed and scrambled to get some clothes on. He looked in the mirror above his dresser. His hair was tousled and his eyes were bloodshot. There was no time to splash water on his face. Ben put on a pair of jeans and a white tee, then hustled down the stairs to the front door.

“It’s me,” Avery called from outside.

“Bollocks, bollocks,” Ben whispered. When he got to the front door, he ran a hand through his hair, straightened up, and opened the door to the harsh sunlight.

Avery was dressed casually in a green sweater, a pair of slacks, and a white pea coat. She held a cardboard holder of three steaming drinks and seemed alert and well-rested, a far cry from Ben’s zombie-like state.

“Hello.” Avery smiled uneasily.

“Hello,” Benedict replied. He moved aside and opened the door wider. “Come in, please.”

“Thank you.” Avery squeezed through the door and stood awkwardly in the entry with Ben. She held up the drinks. “Um, I didn’t know if you wanted coffee or tea, so I got both.”

“Oh. Coffee, please.”

Avery handed him a cup on the far left. A beat of silence followed. “Can I—?

“Right! Sorry.” Benedict ushered her down the hall to the kitchen.

Avery set the drinks on the island counter and took her coat off, draping it on a high chair. She avoided eye contact with her employer, opting instead to fuss with her hair and drink her coffee slowly.

“You, um . . . you don’t look hungover,” Ben remarked.

“Oh,” Avery chuckled. “Raj gave me a hangover cure. Something his mother taught him. Tasted like piss, but it did the trick. I could whip you up something similar—”

Ben held his hand up. “No thank you. It’s penance for . . .”

Avery looked at him slowly. His stainless-steel kitchen was immaculately clean, not a speck of dirt anywhere. It was cold and quiet, too quiet, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall. Outside, the afternoon sun shone brightly, reflecting on the cool banks of snow along the street.

Benedict cleared his throat and said, “I feel like I should apologize for last night—”

“God, no!” Avery cried, shaking her head and putting her hand out. “I shouldn’t have . . . I mean, I—”

“No, it was incredibly unprofessional of me. We had both been drinking and it was midnight, and I guess I just—”

“No, but I was the one who—”

“It’s okay, really,” Benedict said. He smiled to put her at ease. “You couldn’t help yourself.”

Avery stopped and blinked. What a priggish thing to say. The man must have known how handsome and desirable he was, but Avery never thought he was the type to puff himself up.

“Well . . .” Avery began slowly. “There were a lot of factors that played into it, you know.”

“Oh, of course!” Ben said. “I probably would have done the same thing, if I were you.”

Avery’s face went slack. “You would?”

“Sure. It’s perfectly normal.”

Avery felt her face contort in confusion. Was he saying that he was just as attracted to her as she was to him? He was being awfully haughty about it.

Benedict, meanwhile, didn’t see why Avery was so upset about throwing up on him. It wasn’t the first time a friend got too surly, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It would have been kind of adorable, actually, if he hadn’t made a twat out of himself and kissed her beforehand.

“I just want you to know,” Ben continued, “that I’m completely mortified by what happened.”

Avery felt her heart sink to her knees. It was as though someone slapped her in the face. She had come over with every intention of apologizing for kissing him, even though he seemed to enjoy it by the way he moaned and unbuckled his knees. But _this_ —admitting he was embarrassed by their kiss—this was completely unexpected. It was too much heartache for Avery to handle.

She turned away from him and put her hand on her mouth. Tears welled in Avery’s eyes. “Oh, God,” she whispered.

“No, no,” Ben rushed to her side and put his hand on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. Christ. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“I should go—” Avery tried to step away, but Ben gently held her back.

“Avery, please. I’m so sorry. We had been drinking, and . . . it was just the moment, you know? The confetti, the fireworks, the champagne. I’m not trying to make excuses, I just . . .” Benedict sighed. “I hope you’ll forgive me. You’re the best PA I’ve ever had. I can’t lose you.”

Avery squeezed her eyes shut. Stupid. She was so stupid. To think he could ever be attracted to someone like her, much less want to kiss. He said it himself, he was drunk and didn’t mean it. All the pieces she had vainly tried to put together—the song, the jacket, the deep conversations and longing glances—all of it was a huge misunderstanding. She had been a total prat. A stupid, lovesick girl who couldn’t separate fantasy from reality. She suddenly understood why Benedict was being so nice to her, rather than shoving a pink slip in her face: he felt sorry for her.

_Well_ , Avery thought, _time to come back to reality_. She had a job to do, goddamn it. Despite her horrendous misgivings, he obviously still wanted her as his assistant. She wouldn’t give him or anyone else the satisfaction of running away with her heart trailing behind her.

Avery sucked in a breath through her nose, blinked away her tears, and turned to her boss. “You’ll never lose me,” she said.

0000000

Avery walked back into her flat with a plastic bag and heavy shoulders. Raj had gone off to work, but Nani was still on the couch watching a game show. Nanita lowered her bowl of yogurt and looked at her grief-stricken friend.

“Fuck, what happened?”

Avery closed the door shut with her foot and held the plastic bag up. “Nani. I need Audrey.”

Minutes later, Nani cleared off her bed and popped _Roman Holiday_ in to the DVD player. She didn’t ask why Avery was so upset, or why she was already back from work, but she guessed it had to do with Benedict. The only time Avery ate Ben and Jerry’s and watched Audrey Hepburn films was when she was heartbroken. They cuddled on the bed in Nani’s room and ate ice cream together, sharing a spoon.

Avery sighed and took her bra off. Gregory Peck escorted a drunk Audrey to his home. “He’s a fit chap,” she said,

“Who? Greg?” Nani shrugged and spooned a helping of Chunky Monkey in her mouth. “He’s awfully tall. Poor Audrey needs a ladder to get to his mouth.”

Avery pulled the comforter closer around her chest and swiped the pint of ice cream from her friend. “Bloody Audrey. Looks beautiful even when she’s tossed. It’s not right.”

Nani laughed. She put her arm around her friend and held her to her breast. “What’s wrong, _priyā_? Tell Mama.”

Avery sniffled and she shoveled ice cream in her mouth. “I’m a twat,” she moaned.

“You’re not a twat,” Nani assured.

“I am. I’m a stupid twat.”

“Did he fire you?” Nani asked. Avery had told her about the kiss she shared with Ben.

“No,” Avery said. “But he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you!” Nani said, patting her friend’s shoulder.

“He said he was mortified. _Mortified_ , Nan. Those were his exact word. I stupidly put myself out there and he freaked out.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Nani said, stealing the ice cream back. “You were drunk. You said yourself, you caught him by surprise. What on earth possessed you to even—?”

“I know, I know!” Avery groaned. “I just thought he might have—”

“Felt the same way?”

Avery looked at her friend. “He kissed me back, Nan. I know he did. He even _moaned_!”

“Guys always moan when they kiss and get horny,” Nani argued. “He’s a _guy_! I’ll bet if I kissed you right now, you’d be moaning, too.”

Avery laughed and pushed her friend’s shoulder. “This is serious, Nanita. I could use a little support.”

“Okay.” Nani put the ice cream on her end table and took Avery’s arm in hers. They settled back against the bed and watched the telly as Audrey fell into Gregory Peck’s bed. “The fact is, you’re a bloody gorgeous woman. You’re sweet, kind, smart, and everyone loves you. Even Raj’s Auntie-ji, and she hates _all_ white girls.”

Avery snorted a laugh.

“But you’re also a brilliant PA,” Nani continued. “And he doesn’t want to lose you. You made a mistake, it happens. He’s still your _boss_ , Aves. You still have a job to do. If he really is embarrassed by the kiss, it’s a miracle he wants to keep you around at all. Not many professionals would do that.”

Avery nuzzled against her friend’s arm. “But I don’t know if I can go back to the way it was, Nan. It seems so . . . _different_ now.”

“Then get another job,” Nani said. “Or toughen up and do your work.”

Avery sighed again. She always appreciated Nani for her touch love and straight talk. They had ice cream and Audrey, but a dose of reality was sorely needed. No one else had the guts to tell Avery the truth in times of need.

“Am I a prat?” Avery asked.

Nani shrugged and reached for the ice cream again. “You might be a little bit of a prat. But I love you, anyway.”

Avery smiled. They watched the rest of the movie in silence, though Avery’s thoughts wandered to Benedict throughout. Twice she considered resigning, then shook the awful thought from her head. It wasn’t the end of the world. He still wanted her around. He still valued her in some way. That counted for something, even if it wasn’t in a romantic sense. She would get over it. She always did.

Avery cried for the hundredth time when the movie wrapped up. It wasn’t fair that Audrey and Greg couldn’t be together because she was a princess. They were meant to be. As he walked slowly out of the palace with his hands in his pockets, Avery hoped—like she did every time she watched the movie—that Audrey would run after him.

But she didn’t.


	14. Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben tries to heal things with Avery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, and for my absence. I've been having writer's block lately, but I think I'm over it. As always, thanks for sticking with me!

Weeks went by and it was back to business as usual. Avery threw herself into her work, diligently planning Benedict’s calendar of events for the upcoming months—his trip to Japan, the JJ Abrams film he was doing in L.A., the umpteenth interviews and photoshoots for _Sherlock_. Ben could officially call himself a superstar now, and Avery was sure that once American audiences got a taste of him in a blockbuster, there was no stopping his rise to the heavens.

Awkwardness plagued Avery and Benedict on the set of _Sherlock_. She was polite but curt, keeping her head down and herself out of the way. He would ask her to join him and Martin at the pub some nights—probably goaded by Amanda to at least extend the invitation—but Avery always refused. She stayed in her hotel room and did work well into the night. When there wasn’t work to do, she made something up.

Her knitting never looked better.

A few weeks into shooting, the cast and crew went to Swindon to film some scenes with Benedict’s parents. Art never mirrored reality so easily with Ben sharing his parents with his _Sherlock_ character. Between scenes, Wanda invited Avery inside the house for a cup of tea, but Avery politely declined.

Wanda pulled her son aside before a scene and whispered, “What’s wrong with your PA?”

“Hmm?” Ben murmured. He was looking over his script for the scene in his mum’s kitchen/set.

“She’s awfully standoffish. What did you do to her?”

Ben looked at his mother. “I, erm. . .” There was no way he could tell her the truth. If Wanda found out her son had been smooching a beautiful woman like Avery, Benedict would never hear the end of it until his wedding day. “I’m not sure,” he said. “We’ve just been busy, that’s all.

“Well, if you’ve done something to upset her, you best apologize,” Wanda said. “I didn’t raise you to break hearts and be an arse.”

“Mum, _please_.” Ben gave Wanda a look. She knew him better than that. He still kept in touch with many of his old girlfriends, even those who broke his heart, so for her to suggest he was in any way being a smarmy lowlife was downright offensive.

As they worked, Ben tried to find excuses to be close to Avery to cheer her up. He wondered if he wasn’t pushing too hard—after all, he did force a kiss on her—but he hated nothing more than seeing her quiet and submissive. Before all this mess, she would give him a cheeky quip as she brought him coffee. When talking about his schedule for the day, she would slip in a false event to make him smile, like tea with the Queen or streaking down Piccadilly in sparkly high heels. Now Avery just recited what he needed to hear, smiled cordially, and found something else to do as he filmed.

Benedict sat next to her in the tent where people took breaks to eat and chat with the director. It was set a few yards outside Wanda and Tim’s home on their back lawn, a stiff and chilly wind flapping the white tarp.

Avery was tapping the screen of her new iPad. When her boss sat down next to her, she didn’t look up.

“Hello,” Ben said.

Avery glanced at him. She smiled weakly. “Hello.” When he made no other declaration, Avery said, “Did you need something?”

“No, no,” Ben shook his head. “Just stopping to chat. Everything all right?”

“It’s great,” she said, fiddling with her tablet. “I moved your Sunday interview to Friday so you can have dinner with your parents. Oh, and your three o’clock on Thursday was pushed to noon. Couldn’t be helped—”

“No, I mean . . . is everything all right with you?”

Avery finally looked at her boss. She threw him another unconvincing smile. “Yeah, of course. Busy as usual. That’s a good thing for us.”

Ben squinted at her and pursed his lips. She was definitely changed after their kiss. He thanked God every day that she didn’t hand in her resignation, but if he didn’t do something to lighten the mood and repair their frayed relationship, he may never see her smile at him the way she used to again. It was a thought that ached him to the bone. A world without Avery’s smile was like a world without tea and chocolate biscuits.

Benedict threw his head back dramatically and moaned, “I’m _booored_.”

Avery had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. She held her iPad out to her boss. “You can play a game, if you like.”

Ben looked at her. “No, I’d rather watch _you_ play.”

“Yeah?” Avery held the iPad firmly in her lap and booted up her newest obsession, Fruit Ninja. It was an easy enough game and it didn’t take long for Ben to start barking instructions like the worst backseat driver she ever had.

“Bomb, bomb!” Benedict cried.

“Got it.” Avery whipped her finger across the screen and dodged the flying bombs. She was up to two-hundred points, but it wasn’t good enough to satisfy Ben’s competitive nature.

“It’s glowing, catch that one!”

“Oh, cock it!” Avery yelled as she struck a stray bomb.

Benedict laughed. “You’re rubbish at this!”

“You’re breaking my concentration!” Avery giggled. She playfully pushed him away as he wiggled his finger in front of her screen.

“Aw, there it goes,” Ben said.

The game was over and Avery had gotten a pitiful five-hundred points. She looked at her boss and said, “This is your fault, you know.”

Benedict laughed. “You’re blaming _me_?”

“I don’t come to your specialty area and start badgering you, do I? Next scene you’re in, I’ll stand by the camera and just start shouting all the things you’re doing wrong and how to fix it.”

“That’s Mark’s job, I’m afraid,” Ben said.

The man in question entered the tent. When he heard his name, he looked at Benedict. “What have I done now?”

“My PA thinks she can do your job.” Ben winked at Avery.

“No, no! I didn’t mean—” Avery pushed her boss’s shoulder again spiritedly and said to him, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I’d fancy a break now and again,” Mark said, heading over to the food table. “Though I wouldn’t be able to fill your shoes, Avery. I can’t imagine following this chap around day-in.”

“You get used to it,” Avery said, smiling slightly at her boss.

Ben smiled back.

Mark approached them with a bagel in one hand and a banana in the other. For whatever reason, he handed the banana to Benedict. “Got a question for you,” Mark said.

“Right,” Ben put the banana to his hear like a telephone. “But it you want to speak, you must talk into the banana. That’s the rules.”

Avery giggled. He was being weirder than usual. It wasn’t abnormal to see him suddenly start dancing with Martin between takes or make silly faces at the paparazzi, but there was something in the air today that made him especially hyper.

Mark took the banana from Benedict and followed orders, speaking into it like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Steven and I have decided to bring a few along to Comic Con this year and we’re wondering if you have time to come.”

Ben took the banana back from Mark and asked into it, “When is that?”

The banana was passed off again. “Mid-April. Haven’t asked Martin yet, but he might have to been in New Zealand for _The Hobbit_ —”

“You’ll be in California for _Star Trek_ , anyway,” Avery said.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you unless you speak into the banana,” Benedict said.

Avery laughed and put a hand to her forehead. “I don’t think this fits my job description—”

Mark handed the banana off to Avery. She put it to her ear, doubling over in giggles. “I’m not . . . _bloody hell_. Okay, you’re supposed to be in LA towards the end of April, so would you rather stay and wait or come later?” Avery gave her boss the banana.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said. “I love Comic Con. I’d be thrilled.”

“You look absolutely daft with that thing,” Avery said to Ben.

Benedict gave her a defiant look. “Can’t hear you, sorry.” He handed the banana to Mark.

“Well, this has been lovely,” Mark said into the bananaphone. “Have you publicist draw up the plans and get back to me.” Gatiss tossed his half-eaten bagel to Benedict and peeled the banana. He walked off and ate the fruit with a quick wave.

Ben laughed and looked at Avery. She was smiling, looking down at her blank iPad with the slightest hint of red on her cheeks. He was thrilled to see her finally smiling. If he had to stand on his head with his bare ass in the air whilst humming _God Save the Queen_ , he would gladly do it a hundred times over to make her grin.

“Are we okay?” he asked.

Avery looked at him. She nodded. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

She meant it. For the first time in a while, it felt like old times. They could laugh together and not make it awkward. She could sit next to him and forget the fact that she was madly in love with him. The thought still crept up on her, like a niggling little worm burrowing its way to her eyeballs, but joking with him, even for a moment, gave her the hope that they could at least be friends.

“Are you coming to California with me?” Benedict asked.

Avery smiled. “Yeah, if you like. I’ve never been to America before.”

“Good. You’ll get some time on the plane to hone your Fruit Ninja skills.”

Avery laughed. “Might work on a tan while I’m in LA as well.”

“I could take you to Santa Monica. They have amazing fish tacos on the—”

“Ben?” The assistant director stood just outside the tent and motioned for him. “They need you on set.”

“Right.” He glanced at Avery. “To be continued.” Benedict stood and walked out of the tent.

Avery clutched her iPad to her chest as she watched him leave. Something about the idea of going to LA felt like a fresh beginning for her. Maybe it was the old adage of “The Land of Possibility,” but Avery truly felt that getting out of England for a while would do her some good. New faces. New accents. New food. New ways of distracting herself from the pang of ache she felt knowing that she could never be more than friends with Benedict.

She should have told him she had never flown before.


	15. 12 Hour Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery takes her first airplane ride and Ben is there to comfort her.

Everything should have been just fine.

There were comfy seats, plenty of leg room, a nice tray to set her laptop on (which she would have to fold up in a moment, anyway), and the stewardesses all smiled and asked her how she was doing. Avery should have been excited. But she wasn’t. Everything was _not_ fine in this tinderbox of an airplane.

Ben had been kind enough to put her in first class with him, but he didn’t tell her that she would be sitting three rows away, next to a stranger with coffee breath and a penchant for picking his nose when he thought no one was looking. Hans was his name, a German banker who was going to San Francisco to meet his daughter (or lover? Avery couldn’t tell. He spoke in broken English and her German was rusty).

As people in coach boarded, Hans took his small round glasses off and pointed them to Avery before cleaning them with his shirt. “You’re first flight, yes?” he asked.

Avery held tightly to her seatbelt and nodded. Her lungs hadn’t known a full breath of air since she entered the plane. Her responses to people were curt nods, a breathless “yes” or “no,” and a distraught groan from time to time. They weren’t even in the air yet and Avery had never felt such terror.

Firstly, she thought, why did a plane in stasis make so much bloody noise? There was whirling and whoosing and the clacking of buttons somewhere not far off. Shouldn’t they have been saving power for the long flight?

That was the other thing—twelve bloody hours in this silver tube of death. They could have stopped off in New York for a layover and continued their journey on another flight, but Ben hated layovers and avoided them as often as he could. Avery didn’t know which was worse, having to get off and re-board and start this torture all over again, or a half-day’s flight around the world with no fuel stops. Most cabs in London couldn’t get around half the city without cocking up. How the fucking hell would a single airplane travel so far without problems?

Avery rubbed her forehead. It must have been red and raw by now. She thought about asking Hans to switch places so she could be in the aisle. But then what if they started going down and a trolley came whizzing by and knocked her out? Avery tightened her seatbelt for the umpteenth time and squirmed in her seat.

“Why you going to America?” Hans asked. He opened a magazine and flipped through it casually.

“Work,” Avery said.

Her mouth was dry. She would have killed for an orange juice. Since the flight was scheduled to depart at 6am promptly, they were at the airport by four. Paparazzi followed them, of course, and they had gotten plenty of shots of weary-eyed Avery in no makeup. Ben, as usual, looked handsome even with stubble and messy hair.

A stewardess came by and asked if they wanted anything to drink before the plane took off. Hans asked for a mimosa. Avery asked for something with the most alcohol in it. “Does it cost anything?” she inquired.

“No, ma’am,” the pretty stewardess said. “Champagne?”

Avery nodded and gave a weak smile. “Yeah, sure.”

The stewardess walked off and Avery pressed her back against the seat. She felt like a clock wound too tightly. She wanted to kill herself for staying up all night, thinking she would be able to take a kip on the plane or just drink herself to sleep. Maybe there was still time.

“You have drugs?” Hans asked.

Avery looked at the man next to her. “What?”

“For the ride,” he explained. “You are very shaking and you look like the ghost.”

Avery laughed. It was a too-loud, nervous laugh which just served as a way to get a full breath out. Poor Hans, she thought. He didn’t deserve to be stuck with someone like her for the next twelve hours.

“I, um . . . I-I don’t have drugs,” Avery said. “I should have, but I don’t like what they do to me. My roommate gave me Valium for a toothache once and I was useless all day. She though it was funny as hell. So no drugs for me. Just alcohol. Lots of it. And now I’m rambling . . .”

Hans may not have understood everything she was saying, but he smiled nonetheless and nodded politely. “You are scared for nothing,” he said. “I flown many times across the ocean. Very relaxing. Very safe.”

“You never had any trouble?” Avery asked.

“Just once,” Hans said. “Bad, uh . . .” He waved his hand up and down in the air, the word lost on him. “ _Turbulence_. The luggage was falling from the things.” He pointed to the overhead compartment. “But no one was hurt. Shaken, not stirred.” Hans laughed at his joke.

Avery touched her forehead. Turbulence. She hadn’t even thought about that. What if they ran into a storm? What if her seatbelt came off and she went flying into the ceiling?

The stewardess came by with their drinks and not a moment too soon. Avery downed her glass in a second and asked for another.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” the stewardess said, “you’ll have to wait until we’re in the air.”

“Here, take mine,” Hans said as the stewardess left. “You need it more.”

Avery took the drink without protest and finished it as quickly as her champagne. She puckered at the sour orange taste and gave the glass to Hans.

“You feel better?” he asked.

Avery put her head back against the plush seat. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Hans looked over his shoulder up the aisle. “There is a man looking here. Is he your husband?”

Avery looked at Hans. “Who?”

“Oh, he’s coming.” Hans straightened as the man neared.

Benedict stood next to the row, having to bow slightly because of his tall stature. “How are you holding up?” he asked Avery.

“I’m in the seventh circle of hell.”

“Would you like to trade the seat?” Hans asked Ben. He must not have recognized the actor—or, if he did, he was playing it very cool. Hans patted Avery’s shoulder and said, “You should sit next to your husband.”

“Oh, he’s not my—”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Ben said.

Hans gathered his carry-on and stood. As Benedict scooted out of the way in the aisle, he shook Hans’ hand and whispered something in his ear. Hans barked a laugh.

“ _Dankeschön_ ,” Ben said. He sat next to Avery and buckled his seatbelt.

Avery closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead once again. It was bad enough that she was exhausted, terrified, and two vodka shots away from being plastered, but now Ben had a front-row seat to her mental breakdown. He pulled a sleeve of biscuits from his coat pocket and tore them open. Avery found his nonchalance annoying.

“I tried to get us a seat together,” he said. “Couldn’t be helped.”

“Yeahhum,” Avery muttered. She couldn’t concentrate with the plane making even louder noises now. The engines must have been turning on.

“Why didn’t you tell me you hate to fly?” Benedict asked, popping a jammie dodger in his mouth.

“I thought I could get over it,” Avery said. She pulled the window shade down as the plane started to slowly move through the runway. “Bloody fuck. How long does it take to get in the air?”

Ben laughed. “You’ll be all right once we’re up.”

Avery shook her head. “I dunno. I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

“My dad always told me—if the flight attendants don’t look nervous, there’s no reason for you to be. It’s the absolute safest form of travel.”

The airplane made a _thump!_ noise and jerked slightly. Avery yelped and gripped the seat rests. Then a woman came on the speaker and started the routine for safety precautions. A stewardess was at the front, demonstrating how to properly wear a seatbelt and how to use your seat cushion as a floatation device. Avery had to look away. It may have been important stuff, but she couldn’t think about emergency water landings right now.

“Did you ever see that show _Lost_?” she asked Ben.

“A bit.”

“Everyone in first class died.” Avery’s breath caught in her throat. “The fuselage just tore apart in midair. People were sucked into the sky like . . . like a . . .” Avery sighed and dug her back into the seat.

Ben smiled sympathetically at her. He wished he could have given her drugs or more alcohol or even a blow to the head to knock her out for the duration of the trip. Nothing was worse than a panic attack, unless the panic attack lasted for a full twelve hours.

“Tell you what,” Benedict said. “Take hold of my hand. If you’re feeling nervous, just give it a good squeeze.”

Avery looked at her boss. “You’re sure?”

Ben nodded. “Yeah, of course. Pretend I’m Charlie and let all your anxiety out.”

Avery laughed. She slipped her arm around Ben’s and laced her fingers through his. It was warm and inviting, not like her cold, clammy hand that shook like a faulty dryer. She gave him a smile, an apology for being such a twonk, and squeezed it hard when the airplane began to pick up speed down the runway. The craft bobbed and shook, moving faster for takeoff.

“Tell me about L.A,” Avery said, squeezing her eyes shut. “Just—keep me distracted. Please.”

“It’s great,” Ben said over the roar of the twin engines. “Nice at this time of year. Lovely beach if you know where to look. I’ll take you to the pier and buy us some fish tacos. Remember those ones I was talking about—?”

“Oh, bollocks!” Avery cried as the front wheels lifted off the ground. She squeezed his hand hard and he took it with grace.

Ben put his other hand over Avery’s and stroked her knuckle with his thumb. The second set of wheels lifted from the back and the plane was in the air, soaring high, catching wind, climbing and climbing—

“It’s gorgeous,” Ben continued, looking at Avery. “It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“What, the fish tacos?” Avery said.

Benedict laughed. The airplane dipped a little, rattled slightly as they found altitude and straightened out. When they were finally at a safe height, the plan settled and so did Avery. She opened her eyes and loosened her grasp on his hand. Her knuckles were white and poor Benedict’s fingers were almost purple.

“Sorry,” Avery said. “Are we . . .” She looked around, then opened the window shade. Blue sky greeted them, tufts of white clouds dancing about in the early morning light. Avery looked down and wished she hadn’t. Too high. Too fast. Holy bloody fuck. She leaned her head against Ben’s strong shoulder. She didn’t mean for it to be anything romantic, just a simple plead for comfort.

Ben rubbed her shoulder and rested his chin on the top of her head. “You’re okay,” he said, smiling. “You did very well.” He was still holding her hand. A selfish part of him hoped she would be still be upset for hours to come so she would stay as close to him as possible.

0000000

Avery ordered a drink. Then another. Then another. On her fourth glass of champagne, she didn’t feel scared anymore. Butterflies still danced in her stomach, but it could have been one of two things—the sickly-sweet bubbles from the drink, or the easy way Ben continued to chat with her. Of course, he was well on his way to getting sloshed at the same time. Every time she ordered a drink, he asked for a mimosa. Then another. Then another. Then a gin and tonic to round out his diet. He gave Avery the strawberries from the bottom if his mimosa glasses and she gobbled them up with giggles.

“This is _fun_!” Avery said. “I dunno why I was so knackered.” She poked Ben on the shoulder. “Are you knackered, old chap?”

Benedict snorted a laugh. “Are you talking about your knickers?”

Avery howled with laughter. “You cheeky prick!” She finished off the last of Ben’s gin. “I’m telling your mum that you’ve been drinking.”

“So have you, darling.”

“Darling, _oh_!” Avery put the back of her hand to her forehead and pretend-swooned. “Such a prince. Hey, did y’know Raj is related to a saltine?”

“Whadjameen, a sultan?” Ben slurred. _Sultan_. What a funny word. Sal-teene. Hmm, those sounded tasty right about now. “How can he be related to a cracker?”

“No, listen.” Avery pointed her finger in Benedict’s face. He was being purposefully difficult. “Shit. I mean a _sultan_. The blokes with the funny hats. In eighteen-something-something. Anyhoo, he’s got royal blood.”

“Hey, I’ve got royal blood, as well.”

Avery shot Ben a look. “No you don’t!”

“I do—”

“You bloody don’t!”

“ _Shh_ ,” Ben hissed, glancing around the cabin with heavy eyelids. “My great great great granfather was a duke of Hethebeshire _shhhh_.”

Avery put a hand over her mouth and giggled. What a prat. He was obviously lying. But he was a damn cute liar. The stewardess walked by and Ben gently touched her arm to get her attention. He put his best sober face on and asked for two trifles, if they had them. The blonde attendant said they had blueberry custard with ginger cake.

“Perfect!” Benedict sang. “Many thanks.”

“Hey, how long have we been flying?” Avery asked him.

Ben looked at his watch. He had to squint a few times before reading it. “Exacitally three hours.”

Avery rolled her head against the window and moaned. “Shit. We’ll be here ages.”

“I’m having fun, are you having fun?” Ben asked.

“I _always_ have fun with you!” Avery smiled. “You’re my best mate.”

“I thought Nani was your best mate?”

“She’s my best _girl_ mate,” Avery explained. She slipped her arm around Benedict’s again and held his hand. “You’re my best . . . _everything_.”

This sobered Ben up a little. She had said ‘everything’ with a dreamy sigh. Drunk Avery was affectionate, this wasn’t new information, but he felt bad for putting them in this situation again. He could have just stayed in his other seat and hoped Hans would treat her well. He could have sat still and not offered his hand for comfort. But instead, Ben had to make things complicated, helping to blur the lines of friendship and . . . something more. It wasn’t Avery’s fault—she was vulnerable and scared and needed booze to calm her nerves. He didn’t blame her for anything. He blamed himself for taking advantage, for being selfish and hoping she would see him as some kind of white knight at her most helpless.

Benedict pulled his arm away from Avery gently. She didn’t protest. Then, in order to salvage the conversation, he said, “You’re one of my best mates, too.”

“Not as much as Martin,” Avery said.

Ben laughed. “No, not as much as Martin.”

This seemed to lighten the mood once more. The attendant came by with their custard and cake. Avery ate hers slowly, cutting the cake up and drowning it in the custard to make a fine paste. Ben watched curiously. “You’re doing that wrong,” he said.

Avery spooned some in her mouth and gave him a dirty look. “I’m doing it just fine,” she said.

When they were done eating, Avery fell asleep against the window. Benedict took a blanket from the overhead compartment and covered her. Hans came by and asked how she was doing.

“Much better,” Ben said, looking up at the man.

“Your wife is very nice,” Hans said. “Where did you both meet?”

“She’s not my—” Ben stopped. It occurred to him that Hans really didn’t know who he was. Ben could have been just a normal guy making a trip to America on holiday. What harm was there in a little white lie? Hans wouldn’t know any better. “We met, uh . . . at work.”

“I met my wife at work also,” Hans said. “Twenty years in the next week.”

“How lovely,” Ben said. “Congratulations.”

“ _Ja, danke_. She very pretty, your girl. You are lucky.”

Ben glanced at Avery. Her head was against the window, her body curled up tightly even though the seat had plenty of room to fold back. Avery’s mouth was open slightly as she breathed, a soft hum escaping her mouth. She had no makeup, unkempt hair, and a ratty old hoodie pulled over her head. She was beautiful.

“I am lucky, aren’t I?” Ben said. He smiled, reached out, and pulled the blanket closer around Avery.


	16. The Golden State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in L.A., Avery navigates the ins and outs of this new city. Benedict makes an interesting friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for the support--you comments, kudos, and time. I really appreciate having such awesome fans of this little story. Thank you!

L.A. was hotter than Avery expected. And brighter. And noisier. And smellier. The city had a golden haze surrounding it, either from the sunshine or the smog, she couldn’t tell which. Whatever the case, it took her a few days to get used to the exhaust and cigarette smell of the streets. Not that there was much time for dallying—Benedict’s schedule kept them hopping from one taxi to the next. Interviews, photoshoots, and of course Comic Con made this trip feel less and less like a holiday. Avery barely had time to talk to Ben, much less visit Santa Monica pier for fish tacos.

Working in L.A. was like staying at a pushy luxury hotel. There was a new batch of assistants for everything—special Hollywood assistants who knew the city and where to get the best cup of non-fat soy chai. Avery felt quite useless most of the time. Ben asked her to pick up a pair of cufflinks in Beverly Hills (a present for Mr. J.J. Abrams), and Avery had gotten off the tube— _subway_ —too early and found herself in West Hollywood Park.

After Comic Con, there was a few days to rest and unwind. Avery put her bathing suit on and decided to try the hotel pool. Her delicate porcelain skin was already pink on her head and shoulders. Avery tied a sheer blue wrap around her waist and carried her iPad and towel to the outside pool. Even just an hour by herself would be some relief.

Avery put her sunglasses on as she stepped outside. There were two types of people who plagued L.A.—beatiful demigods with bronze skin, fake tits, bulging muscles, and tiny swimwear. Then there was the complete opposite in equal numbers—rich, fat out-of-towners with plump bellies, ghost-white skin, and gobs of suntan lotion on their nose and shoulders. The pool wasn’t crowded, but there were people from each category lounging about, intermingling oddly.

Avery sat at the closest lounge chair by the entrance. She took her wrap off and looked around at the beautiful models who sat by the pool. They were all stick-thin and shiny, as though they had been rubbing olive oil on their tan skin all morning. When they smiled, their too-white teeth could be seen from miles around.

Avery heard a whistle, then a quick “Oi!” a few chairs down. She looked to her left and Ben sat on a lounge chair, sunglasses perched on his nose. He worse a pair of god-awful orange trunks (she had advised him against packing them, but he had insisted), and his pale British skin was almost translucent in the blazing L.A. sun. But at least his personal trainer was working him to the bone because Benedict was, for lack of a better word, _ripped_.

Avery tied her wrap around her waist again and moved closer to her boss, sitting next to him on a chair. “Hello,” she said, perching her sunglasses on the crown of her head.

Ben slipped his sunglasses down the length of his nose and peered at Avery. “You’re pink,” he said. Benedict sat up and rummaged in the bag next to his seat. He pulled out a book, half a script, and a bottle of SPF 10 sunscreen. He handed it to Avery and said, “We’re not meant for this weather.”

Avery laughed. “Speak for yourself. You could blind someone with the shine coming off of your chest.”

Ben sat back against his chair with a smile and said, “If you insist on being cheeky, I reserve the right to throw you in the pool.”

“Yeah?” Avery squirted some sunblock in her hand. “Suppose I break my neck? Then where would you be?”

“Six feet under within a week,” Ben said. He sat up again and tossed his sunglasses on the side table. “Need help?”

Avery looked at the white goop in her hand, then at her boss. It would be hell to put it between her shoulder blades. She certainly didn’t have this problem back home. “All right.” Avery sat on the edge of Ben’s chair and handed him the bottle again. She applied her glob of sunscreen on her arms and waited for the cool shock on her back.

Ben squeezed a liberal amount of Coppertone in his hand. He paused, staring at Avery’s back. Her black bikini string was all that separated him from her naked body. One stiff wind was all it would take to render her completely naked. Avery rubbed some of the lotion on her burned shoulders and Benedict’s breath caught in his throat.

“How’s shooting going so far?” Avery asked.

Her question snapped Ben out of his stupor. He lightly dabbed sunscreen between her shoulders and said, “Good. Very good. Everyone’s a joy to work with, especially Simon. He said the funniest thing the other day—”

“Which one is he, then? Not Spock—”

“No, that’s Zach,” Ben said, chuckling. “Didn’t you watch the first _Star Trek_?”

“No, only the originals with Shatner.”

“You’re embarrassing me, Ms. Lorris.” Ben’s hand traveled lower down her back, spreading the lotion in the crease where her spine hid.

Avery had to keep rubbing lotion on her arms to stop from trembling. Ben’s breath was on her back, sending shivers up her spine. The way his long, smooth fingers massaged the suntan lotion into her skin was sensual and relaxing.

Benedict’s eyes wandered all along Avery’s backside like a cartographer studying new land. He had never seen her this naked before. A thrill shot down from his chest and into his groin, where his manhood threatened to “spring” out of control and embarrass him. He pulled his hands away from her back and rubbed them together.

“Right. All finished.”

Avery smiled at him over her shoulder and said, “Thanks.” She sat on her chair next to him and took her wrap off. Part of her liked being this exposed out in the open—there was hardly a chance for such skimpiness in England—and the way Ben was staring made her giddy. He was a _man_ , after all. Men stared at half-naked women all the time, employer or not. He couldn’t help his nature, Avery thought.

Still, a part of her wanted to believe he was staring at her because he genuinely liked what he saw.

Avery cleared her throat and said, “Fancy a dip?”

“Erm . . .” Ben looked down briefly, then folded his hands in his lap. “In a moment.”

0000000

During shooting, Avery spent a majority of the time on the back lot with the other crew and assistants. It felt a bit like an after-school club where all the “non-celebrities” hung out and chatted in a secret language only they knew about—how to make a last-minute hem for an Oscar party, what kind of lighting to use for an overhead shot, how many cups of coffee were safe to drink within two hours.

Avery had made the mistake of dressing professionally her first day on set. When she saw all the other assistants and crew members in jeans and tank tops, she went shopping the next day to better blend with her surroundings. Since the pound went further in America, Avery was able to buy a few stunning tops and a nice new pair of boots.

“Does anyone have a fucking cigarette?” Jacob Thompson shouted from a trailer on the back lot. He was an agent for one of the stars on set—Chris Pine or Zoe Saldana, Avery wasn’t sure—and he mostly kept to himself when he wasn’t screeching for a fag or an energy drink.

Avery was sitting under an awning checking her email when she heard him yell. Every little thing around here made her jump. It wasn’t like back home on the _Sherlock_ set. Here, everyone was in a damn rush to get somewhere and do something. They were loud and pushy and rarely said ‘thank you’ for anything. Avery kept to herself and came only when needed.

A woman named Marabeth walked under Avery’s awning (well, it was _everyone’s_ awning) and offered Avery a bottle of water. Marabeth was John Cho’s PA. She and Avery had met on the first day and showed her around the set. Marabeth came from Texas and spoke with a twangy accent that Avery found delightful. She was thin and freckled, her hair sunset-orange and her jeans always torn at the shins.

“Only eight more hours to go,” Marabeth joked. She eyed Avery and sat on a chair opposite. “You’re lookin’ good today. Did’ya go to Kitson at the Highland Center?”

“Yes, it was marvelous. Thank you for the suggestion. Is that really the theater where they have the Oscars?”

“Yeah. Pretty cool, huh?” Marabeth opened her own water and continued, “You get used to that kind of stuff, being here. The other day I saw Simon Cowell on Hollywood Boulevard—didn’t even bat an eye.”

Avery laughed. She drank her water and set her iPad on the chair beside her. “Have you been a PA for long?” she asked.

“’Bout three years with John,” Marabeth replied. “Before that, I was a secretary for—well, I can’t tell you, actually.”

“Do you enjoy working with John?”

“Oh, sure! He’s a sweetheart. His wife makes the best soup when I’m sick.”

“Does she ever get jealous?” Avery asked.

Marabeth looked at Avery quizzically. “Jealous of what?”

“Of _you_. You know, following her husband around all the time, going on trips—”

Marabeth started laughing. “Oh, honey, she’s _way_ too classy for that. Besides, it’s just a job. I ain’t tucking him into bed at night and kissing his forehead.”

Avery smiled weakly in agreement. _Just a job_. Was her closeness with Benedict an anomaly in the PA world? Was she friendlier to him than she was supposed to be? Perhaps American’s just did things differently. Maybe there were laws or something against having a pint with your celebrity employer, or a contract they had to sign according to the Hollywood Society of Whatever—

“What about you?” Marabeth asked. “What’s his name again? Benedim somethin’-somethin’—”

“Bene-dict Cum-ber-batch,” Avery pronounced. She had to do that a lot since coming to L.A. “Yeah, he’s great.”

“He’s _really_ hot,” Marabeth giggled. “I heard him talk the other day and his voice is like butter. Can’t believe I’m just now hearing about him.”

“Well, he’s much bigger in England—”

“I’m sure he’s big _everywhere_ , if you know what I mean.”

Avery’s smile vanished and she looked at her lap. It wasn’t like fooling around with Nani. She hardly knew Marabeth and she was talking about Ben as though he were a slice of meat instead of a respected actor. Avery probably wouldn’t have minded it coming from someone back home, but hearing Marabeth say it made her uncomfortable.

“Aw, fuck,” Marabeth said. “M’sorry, that was gross of me. Really, I—sometimes I get caught up in gossip and celebrity-talk, it just sorta—”

“It’s fine,” Avery said. “Like you said, it’s just a job.”

Marabeth sighed through her nose. “Anyway, a bunch of us are goin’ out for drinks after work. Wanna come? No celebrities allowed.”

Avery smiled. “Yeah, that sounds like fun. I’ll have to check with Ben.”

“Cool.” Marabeth stood and looked down at Avery. “You’ll wanna change before we go out. Do you own a thong?”

Avery looked down, extended her legs, and pointed to her flip-flops.

Marabeth howled with laughter. “Ohmigod, I love you! Is that a British thing? You’re such s kidder.”

Avery reddened with embarrassment. She grinned amiably and told Marabeth she would meet her here after shooting was done.

0000000

When filming had commenced for the day, Avery met Ben in his trailer. Before she entered, she heard him and a woman chatting. Avery gently rapped on the door and for her sang for her to come in. Benedict’s trailer was pristine, with comfy leather seats, a stainless-steel kitchenette, and a vase of wilting roses on a table in the sitting area. Ben was at the small breakfast nook, chatting with the mystery woman who sat on the couch.

“Hey, there,” Ben said to his assistant. “Avery, this is Clarissa. She does makeup on set.”

Avery looked at the petite dark-haired woman on the couch. She had tattoos scrawled up her arms, and piercing on her left eyebrow, and a pair of stunning green eyes. She stood and extended her hand to Avery.

“Hi! It’s really good to meet you. Ben told me everything about you.”

 _Ben_. They were so friendly already. Avery smiled politely and shook her hand. “How do you do?”

“Come have a seat,” Clarissa offered. “God, I _love_ your top. Did you get it in town?”

Avery adjusted her bejeweled tank top as she sat on a chair opposite of Clarissa. “Yes, at Kitson. I like your . . . tattoos.”

Clarissa glances at her arms and laughed. “Aw, yeah. My mom said I’d never get anywhere with all this ink. Now look at me.”

Avery nodded in agreement. She stole a look at Ben. He was still grinning at Clarissa, his eyes dancing over her tattoos, her long black hair, her pouty lips and small breasts. Avery felt a red-hot poker of jealousy in her gut.

“Uhm, sorry—did you want me to come back later?” Avery asked Ben.

“No, no. We’re just chatting.” Ben finally looked at Avery. “Actually, could you run back to the hotel quickly and grab me a blue shirt from my closet? A few of us are going out tonight, and I didn’t bring any extra clothes.”

“Yes, of course. Button-down or pullover?”

“Oh, definitely button-down,” Clarissa said, smiling at Benedict. “I mean, the place we’re going to isn’t fancy, but it’s not a ho-down either.”

“Oh, you’re going as well?” Avery asked. She hadn’t meant to, but it sort of came tumbling out of her mouth. She prayed she didn’t sound as envious as she felt. “I mean, um . . . If you’re going, do you need anything? A coffee or a jacket, or—?”

Clarissa waved her hand. “Oh, no, I’m fine.”

“I’m starved,” Ben said to Clarissa. “Would you like to eat before we go?”

Clarissa shrugged. “Sure.” She looked at Avery. “Maybe a couple of sandwiches while you’re out?”

Avery stared at Clarissa for a moment, then nodded and took out her iPad. “Yeah, sure. What’ll you have?” She made a note of their orders on her tablet, careful not to meet Benedict’s eyes. She was used to doing trivial things like getting food, but bringing it to someone other than Ben felt like a slap to the face. She was _his_ assistant, not a maid for other crew members.Benedict reached in his pocket and pulled out money for the food. Clarissa put out her hand and said, “No, no. I insist.” She gave Avery a twenty.

Avery plucked the money from Clarissa’s hand coldly. “Anything else?” She raised her eyes slowly to Ben. She half-expected him to invite her out with them, at least to mingle with the other cast members. Back in England, he always invited her to drinks at the pub—a friendly gesture rather than a simple courtesy.

Benedict shook his head and pursed his lips. “No, that should be it.”

Avery’s heart sank. She nodded and smiled weakly, the awful realization dawning on her. He didn’t invite her because he was being rude. It was because this was a date and Avery would have been the third wheel.


	17. Deronda Knows Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict wonders if Clarissa is the right girl for him. Clarissa presses Avery for information on Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. BIG drama ahead!

_Was she beautiful or not beautiful?_

Benedict thought of this quote as he sat in the trailer on the backlot getting his makeup done by Clarissa. When he was in the ninth grade, Ben’s father gave him a copy of _Daniel Deronda_ , a doorstop of a novel that took ages for Ben to get into. The title character, Daniel, pondered Miss Gwendolen Harleth’s beauty for a whole chapter, and there was much debate in the literary community as to whether the novel was about her romantic ideals, or Daniel’s unflinching realism.  
  
Was Clarissa beautiful or not beautiful?  
  
Was Benedict a romantic or realist?  
  
“Is that too much powder?” Clarissa asked, pulling her hand away from his face for a moment.  
  
“No, it’s fine,” he replied.  
  
Ben certainly enjoyed her company the night before. She got on well with Simon Pegg and Chris Pine (both absolute jokesters if Benedict ever saw one), and she held her own when they teased her about her tattoos. Clarissa was the type of woman who didn’t let a man dote on her—she got her own pitchers of beer, opened doors herself, and made raunchy comebacks when the men at the table got cheeky. She was, as Chris stated, “one of the guys.”  
  
But she wasn’t quite perfect. No woman was, of course, but there was something missing in her that was crucial for Ben to consider her as someone more than a friend. Maybe it was her American brashness, her unwillingness to compromise on matters of the bar tab, or just the way she chewed with her front teeth. Other qualities about her made him rethink his hesitancy. She was smart (a graduate of business at UCLA), she had a wonderful sense of humor, and she had kissed him at the end of the night in a way that meant she was definitely interested, but not necessarily pushing for sex. Sex would have complicated their working relationship. Clarissa must have known this.

_Was she beautiful or not beautiful?_

Clarissa finished with the powder and started reorganizing her makeup on the vanity. Ben watched her in the mirror, the bright lights turning her dark hair almost blue. “Do you like art?” he asked.

Clarissa turned and looked at him. “Art?” She glanced at the wall behind him in thought. “Honestly, I never got into modern art. The whole scene is kind of pretentious to me.”

“What about classical art?” Ben prodded.

Clarissa went back to arranging her makeup kit. “Art has never really been my scene, y’know? I’m more of a film buff. German Expressionism is my sweet spot.” She smiled at Ben from over her shoulder. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

“I’m not German.”

“But you’re in film.” Clarissa paused, then mumbled to herself, “Not exactly works of art, but still . . .”

Of course, Benedict heard her. He took off the paper collar on his shirt and threw it in the trash, standing irately to show his distaste. “I think I’m good for now,” he said to Clarissa. “I have non-art to film.” Ben left the makeup room swiftly, leaving Clarissa by herself in a state of utter confusion.

0000000

The studio had a small gym where many personal trainers took their celebrity clients for sessions on off days of shooting. Zachary Quinto was on an exercise bike, watching CNN on the flatscreen TVs above the full-length mirrors on the wall. Avery kept her distance from him, even though she was dying to say hello. She had been a big fan of _Heroes_ and admired his lesser-known comedic talents from “Funny or Die” skits online.

There were a few more men in the gym, mostly extras from set, so Avery had the treadmills all to herself that morning. She walked along briskly with her headphones blasting a mix of Bollywood tunes Nani had burned for her. It made Avery feel as if she were jogging home.

The unending beauty and fat-shaming attitude of L.A. had worn Avery down, and even though she had never seen herself as anything more than a little pudgy in England, in a city of starlets, she was a beached whale. Her sunburn had faded to a light tan on her shoulders and face, now all she needed was buns of steel and Michelle Obama arms and Avery would be satisfied walking down Melrose.

Just as Avery skipped to another song on her iPod, Clarissa popped up next to her on the other treadmill and waved. “Hi, Avery!”

Avery yelped and tripped on the slow-moving treadmill. She regained her balance and turned the machine off, pulling the headphones from her ears. “Christ, you scared me!”

“Sorry,” Clarissa said. “Mind if I join you?”

“Well—”

“God, it’s _such_ a relief to have a place like this close by.” Clarissa turned her machine on to a powerful jaunt and ran with ease. She wore a pair of tight black bike shorts, a lime-green tank, and slick pair of pink running shoes. Why she felt the need to tone up when her body was already a Greek statue, Avery didn’t know.

Avery turned her treadmill back on and matched Clarissa’s speed. She was already breathless from her safe sprint, but Avery would be damned if she’d let Clarissa one-up her.

“I was hoping I could talk to you, actually,” Clarissa said. She barely broke a sweat as the treadmill whizzed on.

Avery turned the speed up and pushed her legs faster.

“I think I upset Ben somehow. He hasn’t talked to me since yesterday.”

“Why do you . . . wanna . . . talk to _me_?” Avery panted.

Amazingly, Clarissa shrugged as she galloped on the machine. “You spent so much time with him as his PA. You know him better than anyone, besides his mom.” Clarissa glanced at Avery. “Slow down, sweetie, you might trip.”

Avery grimaced and sped the machine up to ten.

But there was no showing Clarissa up at this gym. Even when Avery moved on to ab crunches on the mat, the makeup artist followed her and kept up the regiment with ease. Avery’s muscles ached with every movement. Clarissa, meanwhile, looked as though she was getting stronger with ever crunchie.

“I mean, I really like him,” Clarissa continued, hoisting herself in another sit-up.

Avery slowly, achingly pushed herself up to Clarissa’s level on the mat. Her abs were on fire.

Clarissa said, “It’s not like I want to _marry_ him or anything, but I’d like to have dinner or something, y’know?”

Avery grunted and fell back against the mat. The men in the gym were slowly gathering around the two women, watching them subconsciously compete. Clarissa did three more fast crunchies before Avery could even finish one.

Avery flipped over onto her stomach to do push-ups. Real ones. Not the “girly” ones men were always complaining about. Her muscles felt like Jell-O and her arms trembled as she raised herself up off the mat. But she was going to do at least ten, goddamn it. And somehow, hopefully, Clarissa would mess up and fall.

“I got ten bucks on the tattooed chick,” a man muttered to Zachary Quinto, who had also joined the group of spectators.

“I don’t know,” Zach said. “That other girl has this, like, raw determination. Look at her eyes.”

And Avery’s eyes were, most certainly, filled with murder.

“I know he’s only here for a few more weeks,” Clarissa said. “What do you think I should do?”

Avery slowly, painfully raised herself up from the mat by her burning arms. Sweat dripped down her back and she gritted her teeth. A few of the men clapped but she ignored them. This was only her third push-up. Clarissa was already on her eighth.

“Does he like cologne?” Clarissa wondered aloud. “Maybe I should get him some cologne—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Avery cried. She fell on her stomach, then rolled back over onto her back, breathing deeply. Her chest heaved as though a cinderblock had been placed on it. The men jeered, except for Zachary, who told them all to get back to work.

It wasn’t just the tough workout that made Avery want to vomit. She already had to put up with Ben’s goo-goo eyes for Clarissa without having to play matchmaker. And how could he like someone like her, anyway? Sure, she was pretty. And smart. And funny and fit and nice and talented, and—

 _Fucking hell, why does she have to be so bloody perfect?_ Avery thought.

Of course Ben fancied her. She was an easy woman to fancy. But whatever Clarissa had said to make him upset was a ray of selfish hope that Avery clung to. She looked over at Clarissa, who sat cross-legged on the mat as though she hadn’t been working out at all.

“What . . . did you say . . . to make him upset?” Avery asked, still breathless.

Clarissa shrugged. “I made a comment about his work. It’s not that I don’t like what he does, it’s just not _art_ like Fritz Lang or Chaplin.”

Avery rolled her eyes and shook her head, her back still to the smelly mat. “Stupid thing to say. He’s an actor. And a bloody brilliant one. One American blockbuster doesn’t make him a sell-out.” Avery was getting hot and bothered at the very thought of Clarissa uttering those words to Ben. He didn’t need that kind of one-dimensional pretention in his life, not when his career was just taking off.

“I know, I’m an idiot,” Clarissa admitted. “Do you think there’s any hope for me?”

Avery looked at her gym buddy. Her annoyingly perfect, non-sweaty gym buddy. Avery knew Ben. She knew he could forgive anyone who gave him a heartfelt apology. And that’s all it would take for Clarissa. If he really liked as much as his eyes and smile said so, then they would be having dinner and champagne tonight. There was more than enough hope for Clarissa. A woman like her didn’t need it.

Avery sighed and said, “Just apologize. That’s all you can do.”

Clarissa smiled widely, then reached out and hugged Avery around the neck. “Thank you. You’re such a sweetheart.”

Avery patted Clarissa’s back and smiled weakly when they parted. There was no room for selfishness anymore, not after her giant mistake on New Year’s Eve. Benedict was moving on, and so should she. Still, Avery’s heart thudded with dread, her veins long since calmed from her workout. Weariness replaced adrenalin, and all she wanted to do now was lay her head under a weight and let it crush her slowly.

0000000

That afternoon, while Avery was sitting in the backlot arranging Benedict’s schedule for the next week, Clarissa popped her head under the awning and waved. “Hey,” she said.

Avery shifted in her seat and smiled amiably. Inside, she was screaming for a truck to barrel across the lot and run Clarissa right over. “How are you?”

Clarissa grinned as though she had stolen from the cookie jar. She tapped her clenched fists together and said, “You were right. I apologized and he forgave me.”

“Good.” Avery looked back down at her Blackberry. It wasn’t in her nature to be so cold, but Clarissa’s mere presence brought out an ugliness in Avery that she wasn’t proud of.

“He’s a really sweet guy,” Clarissa continued. “Like, without even trying.”

Avery slowly looked up from her phone. At least she and Clarissa could agree on that.

Clarissa sat on a chair across from Avery. “And he’s so focused. I’ve never seen a guy so dedicated to his work. It’s like, if he doesn’t give it his all, he’s letting everyone down.”

A crooked smile tugged on Avery’s lips. She thought about that determination in Ben’s face, when he scanned a script or did multiple takes even when it was past midnight and he had been working for over twelve hours. He was a man with heart, a man who had something to prove—not just to his fans, but to himself. It was one of the best qualities in him.

“Tell me the truth,” Clarissa said.

Avery looked at the makeup artist, a jolt of panic seizing her. Could Clarissa tell that Avery had feelings for her boss? Was Avery that transparent?

“Is Ben really this awesome, or is he putting on a show for me?”

Avery breathed a sigh of relief. She laughed, shook her head slightly, then smiled genuinely at Clarissa. “It’s not an act,” she said. “He’s the real deal.”

Clarissa grinned. “Cool.” She stood, began to make her way out of the awning, then turned and said, “We’re going out for drinks tonight. Not just me and Ben, but a bunch of the guys. I think Zoe will be there, too. Do you wanna come?”

Avery’s face softened. It was a sincere gesture, without irony or obligation. Avery felt bad for her treatment of Clarissa. She let her feelings for Ben turn this woman into an enemy, which she now realized was completely unfair.

Avery nodded. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Great.” Clarissa smiled. “Ben and I are going to Santa Monica for fish tacos first, but we’re meeting everyone on the strip around nine.”

Avery froze. She stared at Clarissa. “Um . . . I’m sorry, did you say fish tacos?”

)000000

A succession of thoughts raced through Avery’s head as she sat on her hotel bed, phone in hand.

Thought #1: _How dare he?! That bloody arsehole is taking that whore to OUR place! He PROMISED me! That was going to be OUR adventure! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!_

Thought #2: _She’s not a whore. She’s nice. I’m an asshole. Oh, God, why am I so needy and stupid and selfish—?_

Thought #3: _He loves her. He’s going to marry her and have tattooed babies and eat trifles with her and I’ll be carrying their coats and fetching them sandwiches for the rest of my fucking life—_

Thought #4: _Overreacting. I’m overreacting. He’s just being nice. It’s not a date, they’re probably just friends. Just friends. Yeah—_

Thought #5: _PISS FUCK COCK GODDAMN SHAG TIT FUCKING ARSEHOLE—_

Thought #6: _I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate my—_

Avery dialed the number and waited seven agonizing rings for someone to answer. She sat on the edge of the bed facing the window, the California sunset turning the sky pink and orange and yellow and dark blue.

“Hello?” Nani answered. She sounded like she had been gargling peanut butter. It was five in the evening in L.A, which meant it was one in the morning in London.

Avery almost felt bad for waking her friend. Then a wave of emotions hit her again and that feeling disappeared. “Nanita?” she whispered.

Nani sensed her friend’s turmoil from thousands of miles away and instantly perked up. “What’s wrong?”

Avery held the phone away from her ear. She pursed her lips and scrunched her face, fighting the urge to cry. She was tired of crying. She was tired of feeling bad, of doubting herself, of running to Nani every time something didn’t go right with Ben—a man who should have been strictly platonic since day one. She didn’t feel like her own person anymore. She felt like an extension of Benedict somehow, like a phantom limb he could still flex from time to time at will. Avery was tired of being flexed, even if Ben’s intentions weren’t cruel. She needed to sever the ties.

Avery put the phone to her ear again and said, “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No—” (that was a lie) “—is everything all right, darling?”

Avery cleared her throat, tears crawling up the back of her tongue like a prickly spider. She swallowed them painfully. “I just wanted to check in and see how you are. How’s Raj?”

“He’s good. How are _you_?”

Avery forced a smile. “I’m great. L.A. is amazing. Everyone’s so beautiful, you wouldn’t believe it . . .”

“How’s Ben? Is he behaving?”

Avery laughed. The question was both ironic and truthful. “He’s fantastic. Everyone’s taking a real shine to him on set.” Avery squeezed her eyes shut, thinking about Benedict with Clarissa—Clairssa’s hair and tattoos and waist and smile and how they were probably eating those fish tacos now on the pier in the sunset like a fairytale—

“You’re sure nothing’s wrong? Sound a little . . .”

“I just miss you, that’s all,” Avery sighed. A stray tear fell down her cheek but she kept her voice steady. “It’s so different here. Everything’s different.”

“Well, yeah,” Nani chuckled. “It’s California. You’ll bring me something back, yeah?”

“Sure. I’ll see if Chris Pine will fit in my suitcase.”

Nani laughed, which warmed Avery’s heart. “Don’t get too attached to America,” Nanita said. “My wedding’s in three months and I need you to make sure Raj’s mother doesn’t kill me.”

“I’ve got the SAS on speed dial.”

Nani laughed again. “I love you, _priya_.”

“I love you, too.”

Avery hung up quickly and held the phone in her lap. She let exactly tow tears fall down her face, then straightened up, brushed them away, and got to her feet. Avery put on a green sundress, fixed her hair into a sloppy bun, and headed downstairs to the poolside bar.

The amputation started now.


	18. Two Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben has a date with Clarissa, and Avery's whereabouts are unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Where did all these comments come from? Not that I'm complaining, but this is the most attention my story has ever gotten. Thank you all so much for the lovely comments! This are about to get SUPER dramatic in this story. Fasten your seat belts.

On his second fish taco, Benedict started to feel guilty. He knew he should have asked Avery to come to the pier instead of Clarissa, but Clarissa was the one who suggested they go to Santa Monica for the evening. The fish tacos were just an afterthought. Still, Ben felt like he was betraying Avery by standing on the end of Santa Monica Pier, looking out at the gray ocean as the sunlight filtered through Clarissa’s dark hair. It should have been Avery’s hair he was admiring, Avery he was agreeing with in terms of the tacos being the best he’s ever had. Without Chris and Simon to buffer the conversation, Ben didn’t know how to talk to Clarissa. They ate silently, bits of lettuce and tomato falling over the railing and into the ocean.

“It’s nice out here, huh?” Clarissa said.

Ben nodded as he chewed. He looked down at the seagulls bobbing leisurely in the water. “It’s one of my favorite places.”

Clarissa looked at him. “Really?” she asked. “Out of all the places you’ve traveled? You live in London, for God’s sake.”

“London is rainy,” Ben replied. “And too busy oftentimes.”

Clarissa shook her head. “I’d kill to live in London. All the pomp and circumstance. Then there’s that famous British politeness . . .”

Ben wiped his mouth and chuckled. “You’ve obviously never been to Brixton.”

“Maybe I will someday,” Clarissa said thoughtfully. She smiled at Benedict.

Ben looked down at the water again. He wondered what Avery was doing. He prayed Clarissa hadn’t told her that they were going to the pier—he couldn’t bear the thought of Avery’s disappointed face, knowing that Ben was taking another woman to their promised place. But he told himself he would come here with her before shooting was done. And it would still be fun, maybe even better with her.

Benedict reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I’m just going to check my messages for a moment.”

“Sure.”

Ben walked a safe distance away from Clarissa and dialed Avery’s number. Three rings, four rings, five rings later, she finally answered. “Hey, it’s me,” he said.

“Hey,” Avery said. Ben could hear people talking in the background.

“Uh . . . what’re you doing?” he asked.

“Just having a drink. Why, do you need something?”

Ben rubbed the back of his neck, guilt swallowing his heart. “No, no. I’m just . . . I feel like we haven’t talked in a while.”

“ . . . sorry, two seconds,” Avery whispered to someone else. “How’s Clarissa?” she asked Benedict.

Ben’s guts dropped to his knees. He looked over at his date and she waved with her fingers. Ben wanted to smash his own face against the sidewalk for being such a prick. Avery knew they were out on a date. What’s worse, she probably knew they were at the pier.

“Avery, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Avery laughed over the phone at her mysterious companion. “If you don’t need anything, can I call you later? I’m in the middle of a conversation.”

Ben blinked. She didn’t sound hurt or bitter. She sounded breezy and relaxed, as though he and Clarissa were the furthest things from her mind. And maybe they were. “No, uh . . . are you coming out to the pub with us tonight?”

“I don’t know, maybe. Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

Benedict glanced at Clarissa again. He shook his head. “No. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Avery hung up quickly. Ben held the phone against his ear for a moment, then put it back in his pocket. She was punishing him. Avery sounded light and pleasant, but whoever she was out with, she wanted Ben to know she was doing just fine without him. And why shouldn’t she? It was a mistake for him to take Clarissa to the pier. He figured he was letting Avery go, letting her have her own life outside of him. She clearly didn’t want to be with him after the fiasco at New Year’s Eve. She deserved to be happy with someone else. And so did he, goddamn it.

Still, Benedict couldn’t stop thinking about Avery as he walked along the beach with Clarissa.

She took note of his aloofness and said, “Are you okay? You’ve been really quiet.”

They were along the boardwalk now. The sun had set and vendors were turning their lights on. They passed henna artists marking up tourists, musicians playing guitar along the sidewalk, and eager families laughing and eating popcorn. Despite all the joy around him, Ben could barely muster a smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said to his date. “I’m afraid I’m not very good company tonight.”

“What’s on your mind?”

They stopped along the boardwalk next to an old woman weaving hemp bracelets. Ben sighed, sat on the stone ledge, and laced his hands together at his front. “I made a mistake a few months ago and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Clarissa sat next to him. “A professional mistake?”

Ben shook his head.

“Ah. Girl trouble?

Benedict looked at his date. Clarissa raised her brow. “ _Boy_ trouble . . .?”

Ben laughed and playfully nudged her. “This is the absolute worst thing to talk about during a date, I know.” He sighed again. “I don’t know, I just . . . Have you ever done something that you felt like changed the course of your life?”

Clarissa looked straight ahead in thought. “Yeah,” she admitted. “If we’re talking about our love life, then mine is Lance. My whole life pivots around Lance. I thought we were going to be together forever.”

Ben looked at Clarissa. “I’m so sorry. When was this?”

“The summer of 2006. I was twenty-two. Not only was N*Sync broken up, but then Lance Bass came out as gay, and my future was ruined—”

Benedict burst out laughing.

“I’m serious!” Clarissa said, smiling. “Everyone wanted Justin Timberlake, but no—I had to go and fall in love with the gay one. I was devastated. Story of my fucking life.”

“You were holding out hope for a member of a boy band?” Ben chuckled.

“Of course I was!” Clarissa laughed and out her hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Look, you shouldn’t beat yourself up. Was this person the love of your life?”

Ben shook his head. “I honestly have no idea.”

“But you still think about her?”

Ben nodded.

Clarissa clucked her tongue. “Tricky. And you know for sure she doesn’t want to be with you?”

Ben nodded again.

Clarissa stood suddenly. “Well, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re Benedict-fucking-Cumberbatch! Why wouldn’t she want you?”

“It’s more complicated than that—”

“No it’s not!” Clarissa exclaimed. She took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “You’re the most gorgeous guy on the planet! You’re smart, and funny, and incredibly sweet—” She led him down the boardwalk with purpose. “And if this woman refuses you even after all that, she’s a goddamn idiot.”

“Where are we going?” Ben asked.

“We are having those drinks with Simon and Chris. And when you’re good and sloshed, you’ll forget all about what’s-her-name, and the boys and I can tell you how pretty you are.”

Ben stopped her. “Clarissa—”

She turned and looked at him, her hand still clasped to his. “Ben, this isn’t about me trying to get into your pants. Though that _would_ be an added bonus.”

Benedict chuckled.

“You deserve to have some fun,” Clarissa continued seriously. “And if you decide you’re still lovelorn at the end of the night, then I’ll drop you off chivalrously, and we can continue on as friends.”

Ben smiled at her. She really was a fantastic woman. Deronda would have agreed straight away—she _was_ beautiful, inside and out. And she was right about everything, except for Avery being an idiot. He didn’t fault his PA for her feelings. It was certainly more complicated than Clarissa was making it out to be, but she wasn’t wrong that he deserved something good. Something fun. He thought about Avery laughing and chatting with her mystery friend. A man? Didn’t matter. She had made her choice, and now he was making his.

0000000

The next morning, Ben called Avery at 7am sharp to have her arrange a ride to the off-lot location for shooting that day. She didn’t answer. He took a shower, shaved, called his mum, and tried again. Still Avery didn’t answer.

“Hey, it’s me,” Ben said, leaving a message for Avery’s voicemail. “I don’t know where you are, but we have to be in San Bernadino by noon. Call me as soon as you get this. Thanks.”

While he waited for Avery to call back, Benedict ordered breakfast from room service and watched the news. He checked his messages from last night, but there was no call from Avery. She hadn’t joined them for drinks.

Ben called Clarissa. “Hey, you!” she said. “Did you get home all right?”

“Yeah, fine.” He sat on the edge of his bed and picked at his eggs. “I didn’t drink that much, you know. You were more sloshed than I was.”

“Only ‘cause Simon kept getting into a chugging contest with me. That guy can down a beer!”

Ben laughed. “Are we okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Clarissa paused. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped the night turned out a little differently. But I’m glad you stayed.”

Benedict smiled. “Me too.” He dug his heel in the carpet. “Um . . . is Avery on set right now?”

“I’m not at the studio,” Clarissa said. “Why, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, no—just wondering.” Ben pursed his lips. He didn’t know how to end the conversation. She had been a good companion that night, had listened to his sob story about being in love and not being able to act on it. Simon and Chris gave their advice, of course, but Clarissa offered him a perspective he hadn’t considered—perhaps his mystery woman (Avery) was just as confused as he was.

“Thank you for being so wonderful,” Benedict said.

“Of course. You’re a real catch, Benny.” Clarissa paused again. “It’s a shame. I think we could have good together.”

Ben lowered his eyes. He nodded as if she could see him. “I know. You deserve better.”

“Oh, shut up.” Clarissa said. She chuckled to put him at ease, to let him know there were no hard feelings. “Call you later?”

“Sure.”

“Good luck, Benny.”

Ben smiled. “Thank you.”

After they hung up, Benedict sat motionless on the bed, staring out the window as if the answers to his questions were in the smoggy L.A. sky. He had blown it with. Clarissa, though part of him knew he could never fully give himself to her. In another time and another place, he would have been everything she needed. But as long as Avery plagued his mind, it wasn’t fair to keep Clarissa waiting in the rafters. She had assured him last night that she understood.

Ben called Avery again and left another voicemail. It was close to ten and he was getting worried. It wasn’t like Avery to miss his calls or even sleep in. “Hey, it’s me again. I’m about to call a car for the ride to San Bernadino. I really need you to call me back. I’m worried.” Ben paused. What if she was hurt? What if her “friend” from last night turned out to be a serial killer and had her stuffed in the boot of his car with her throat sliced open? “Please call me,” Ben concluded. He hung up.

After twenty minutes of pacing the room uneasily, he decided to go to her room. She was probably sleeping in, or in the shower, or perhaps she had lost her phone the night before and was scrambling all over town to get a new one?

Ben took the lift to the twelfth floor and followed the corridor to room 1215 with a thudding heart. He knocked twice. If she didn’t answer, that meant something was gravely wrong. She was hurt or sick or trapped somewhere and he would have to call the police, or send out some kind of search party, or collapse on the ground in despair. He should have invited her to the pier instead of Clarissa. If Avery was hurt in any way, it would be all his fault.

Benedict knocked again and a blond man opened the door in nothing but a towel. Ben cocked his head to the side. “Oh, um . . . I’m sorry, I think I have the wrong room.” He began to turn away, then looked at the stranger again, a pinprick of curiosity digging in his brain. “Is this Avery’s room?”

The handsome, half-naked man nodded. “Yeah, she’s in the shower. Who’re you?”

Ben’s face went slack. Every muscle in his body turned to liquid. He looked at the man’s washboard abs, his tanned skin and golden hair and perfect teeth and wanted to set this American stranger on fire.

0000000

**16 hours earlier**

Avery ordered a cosmo at the poolside bar and waited for something spectacular to happen. This was L.A., for God’s sake—the place where a hooker could become a princess and celebrities were discovered at soda fountains daily. Avery had no interest in becoming a princess, nor did she expect to be discovered by a talent agent, but she hoped that by waiting long enough by herself, an opportunity would present itself.

That opportunity came in the form of a man named Derrick Larsen.

He sat down a few stools from Avery just as she was finishing her cosmo. She didn’t notice him at first—there were many good-looking men by the pool this warm evening—but as he started chatting with the flamboyant bartender, he caught Avery’s eye.

“How’s life, Kyle?” the blond American asked.

Kyle the bartender smiled as he poured the patron a double whiskey. “Better now that you’re here. When are you gonna ditch that job and run away with me, Derrick?”

Derrick laughed. “Sorry, man. If I _had_ to choose a guy, it’d be you in a heartbeat. Sadly, I’m still straight.”

Kyle pouted. “Just my luck.” He threw a wink at his friend and turned to help another customer at the other end of the bar.

Avery glanced at the blond man. He caught her looking and raised his glass in cheers. “Evening, ma’am.”

Avery nodded and raised her empty glass. “Good sir.”

“Ah, you’re British. Here for work or pleasure?”

Avery dipped her finger in her glass and licked away a drop of comso. “Work. Yourself?”

“Same. Kinda. I mean, I live here, but I’m at the hotel for a conference.”

Avery did her best to look casual by pushing her glass towards the bartender and asking for another. “What do you do?” she asked Derrick.

“I’m a doctor over at Cedars-Sinai.”  He looked Avery over. “Are you a model, or . . .?”

Avery gave him an “oh, please” look.

“No, honestly!” Derrick laughed. “I’m not trying to be a creep. You just . . . I dunno, you have that look. Foreigners who come here for work are either trying to be models or actors. Or, unfortunately, housekeepers if they’re from south of the border.”

Avery snorted a laugh.

Derrick took this as a cue to slowly move a few seats closer to Avery. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Derrick.”

She shook it gently. “Avery Lorris.”

“London?” Derrick said.

“Portsmouth. But I went to Oxford, so I’ll grant you that.”

Derrick laughed again. Avery couldn’t believe how casual she was being. She had forgotten what it was like to flirt and have a normal conversation with a normal person—not an actor or a director or some celebrity royalty. It was easier to be herself around someone she didn’t feel like she had to impress.

“So what do you do, Avery?”

Kyle the bartender gave her another cosmo and she thanked him. She took a sip and answered, “I’m a personal assistant. My client is here shooting a movie.”

“Impressive. How long are you in town?”

Avery shrugged. “A few more weeks.”

Derrick nodded. He motioned to the world outside the bar. “Why aren’t you out seeing the sights? Hobnobbing with other famous people?”

“Drowning my sorrows, unfortunately.” Avery took another hearty sip of her drink. She tried not to think about Ben and Clarissa on their date, laughing and sharing food and cuddling on the pier like a couple on their honeymoon. It made her stomach churn.

“Care to talk about it?” Derrick said.

Avery shook her head. “Not particularly.”

The American smiled understandably. “Trouble with a guy?”

Avery laughed. “You’re smart, Derrick.”

“Well, whatever the case, I’m sure he’s a loser.”

Avery put her hand on her head and rested her elbow on the bar. “He’s not, though. I am.”

“Impossible,” Derrick said. When Avery didn’t elaborate, he changed the subject, “When I was an intern, I had a seventy-year-old woman confess her love to me. She had just come out of surgery and she thought I was her late husband.”

“What did you do?” Avery asked.

Derrick shrugged. “I went along with it. I figured I’d let her be happy for those few hours while she was recuperating. I held her hand, listened to her stories. Thankfully, she never tried to cop a feel.”

Avery giggled.

“And when it was time to discharge her, she told me she knew I wasn’t her late husband. She was playing me like a fiddle. She said, ‘I just liked seeing you smile at me.’”

Avery grinned. “That’s very sweet.”

Derrick shrugged. “She was a sweet woman.” He looked at Avery. “The point is, no matter how heartbroken you are, there’s always an old man or woman just waiting to flirt with you.”

“Are you saying I should start cruising nursing homes for a date?”

“I think you could do a little better.”

Avery laughed again. She looked into her cosmo shyly.

Derrick cleared his throat and said, “Listen, um . . . you’re new in town, so I don’t want it to look like I’m creeping on you. But I’ve also enjoyed our conversation, so here’s what I’m gonna do: I’m gonna sit at that table over there and order some dinner. If you’d like to join me, great. If not, I completely understand.”

Avery looked at the handsome doctor. He was clearly asking her on a date, not ten minutes after learning her name, but his confidence and consideration was charming. Even if he was just trying to get into her pants, Avery had to admit that it was the smoothest way a man had ever tried. It helped that he was handsome and smart and funny and a caring doctor. And with all the scantly-clad women lounging around the pool, it said a lot that Derrick was so keen on Avery.

Derrick paid for her drink, gave Avery a quick nod, and sat at a table a few yards away.

Avery consulted her glass of alcohol. This was certainly an opportunity she had hoped for—not to make Ben jealous or show him up—but to be her own person and meet her own interesting people. And she knew, without a doubt, that Derrick at least fancied her a little, while Benedict still played hot and cold with his true feelings. If anything, Derrick was a nice distraction from having to think about Ben and Clarissa. There was no complication with him—no class barriers or career decisions to think about. She could sit and flirt with him all night without having to agonize over the meaning. It was easy. It was exactly what she needed.

Avery downed the rest of her drink, pulled her purse up over her shoulder, and stood over Derrick’s table. “Do you eat trifle?” she asked.

Derrick scrunched his brows at the question. “What’s that?”

Avery smiled and sat down with him.


	19. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't want you dating him."

Bits of the night came together while Avery was in the shower that morning. She allowed herself five minutes to get clean, to sort things out, and to come up with a gentle let-down for Derrick. In those five minutes, she remembered the following things:

1\. There were _tappas_ and margaritas and Derrick was very good at making her laugh

2\. After a few more drinks, they hit the streets together, walking along Hollywood Boulevard like tourists

3\. There were more drinks at a different bar. Derrick told her she was beautiful and kissed her neck

4\. They stood outside the hotel, doing that awkward dance of _should we or shouldn’t we?_ until Avery invited him up to her room

5\. There was kissing and clothes coming off and hair being pulled and when Avery was on her back in bed with Derrick on top of her, he asked if she was sure and Avery had responded breathlessly, “Yes.”  
  
It was good. Not the best shag of her life, but still fun and sweet and sensual. And it was exactly what she needed—no strings, no commitment, no over-analyzing or worry about her job. It was simply a good night with a sexy man.  
  
Still.  
  
Avery couldn’t help but feel guilty.

 _But why?_ she thought to herself as she shampooed her hair. It’s not like Derrick was looking for a long-term thing—he had told her as much over margaritas—so kicking him out wouldn’t be a problem. Still, she was not the type of have one-night stands in first place, so the dance of it all was lost on her. Should she give him her number? Should she send him flowers to thank him for a lovely night? Or was a simple handshake and peck on the cheek good enough?

A light rap on the bathroom door made Avery jump. “Okay in there?” Derrick asked.

“Yeah, fine. Be out in a sec.”

Right. Avery had forgotten she was late. She had left her phone in the bar by the pool, so there was no telling what Ben was thinking right now. _Oh fuck_ , Avery thought, turning the water off. He had called her last night during her date. During _his_ date with Clarissa, actually. Why? Has he grown bored of her? Did their night end badly? Or was he calling to subtly gloat about shagging her?

No. He was too classy for that.

Avery dried off quickly and threw on a pair of jeans at a shirt. She towel-dried her hair and threw it up in a ponytail still wet. Derrick was waiting patiently on the bed when she came out of the bathroom. He was putting on his socks while watching the news.

“I’m sorry, I’m in a rush,” Avery said. She whirled through the room, grabbing her purse and satchel and sunglasses and _where_ were her bloody sandals—?

“It’s fine.” Derrick stood and stretched. “Need help?”

“No, I just—” Avery checked under the bed and found her other sandal. She sprang up and slipped it on, hopping on one foot. “I’m disgustingly late.”

“By the way, some guy was at the door for you when you were in the shower.”

Avery stopped and looked at Derrick. “Who? What did he look like?”

Derrick shrugged. “Really tall. Dark hair. British. I think I’ve seen him before—”

Avery closed her eyes and let a wave of despair crash over her. Ben had come by, had probably been greeted by a shirtless Derrick and then dashed off in embarrassment. Avery clutched her heart. She wasn’t guilty about dumping Derrick anymore. She was guilty that Benedict had found out.

Avery opened her eyes and shook her head. “I’m really sorry, I have to go.” She threw her purse and satchel over her shoulder and ushered Derrick to the door. “I really like you. I do. I just—”

Derrick turned and smiled to Avery as she opened the door. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I had fun. Call me if you’re ever in L.A. again.”

“Yeah.” Avery pushed her and Derrick out the door. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and walked down the opposite end of the hallway. There was no time to look back, no time to give him a friendly wave or a hopeful nod. She could only pray he was already making his way to the elevator, their paths diverging like driftwood in a strong current. He deserved someone better, anyway—someone more geographically desirable with half the baggage Avery was carrying.

“Please, please, please,” Avery whispered. She was heading straight for Benedict’s room, praying he hadn’t already left for San Bernadino. She would worry about her cell phone later when she knew for sure he wasn’t cross at her for being late.

Avery came to his door and knocked quickly. When he didn’t answer, she pulled out the spare keycard he had given to her and burst inside.

The room was still. No T.V. blaring, no coffee maker bubbling. Avery looked to the window and Ben was out on the balcony smoking a cigarette. He paced slowly, head bent down, one hand behind his back. His brows were crinkled in thought. Avery had half-expected to see him writing out her notice of leave for being so late. She set her things down and went to the window. She didn’t have to walk far before he noticed her and stopped pacing.

Ben snubbed his cigarette out and blew out the last puff of smoke. He opened the balcony door and quietly closed it behind him. He didn’t look Avery in the eye as he said, “You’re late.”

Avery nodded. “I know. I’m so sorry, I left my phone—”

Benedict turned away from her with an irritated sigh. He rubbed the back of his head as he walked aimlessly around the room. Avery had never seen him so irate.

“I’ll call a car—”

Ben whipped around suddenly and said, “When I call, I expect you to answer. I was worried sick!”

Avery blinked. “I’m all right, Ben—”

“You weren’t here. We’ll be late now because you weren’t here!”

“I’m sorry!” Avery said. She hadn’t meant to yell, but this was the first time he had ever reprimanded her as her boss. She didn’t like it. “Your scene doesn’t even start for a few hours. You’ll still have time to—”

“That’s not the point, Avery! You didn’t answer your phone. You’re my assistant, you need to be available at all times!”

“I understand that,” Avery said. Her cheeks were getting flush now. “I messed up.”

“Yes, you did.”

Avery’s lips parted as she looked at Benedict. She understood why he was upset, and he was right—it was stupid of her to leave her cell phone at the bar. But his tone just then was bitter and hostile, slicing through her like poisoned barbs. It made Avery’s quills flare in defense.

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose, Ben. I’m a good PA, you know that. It’s not like I was out doing drugs or . . . or—”

“Shagging some stranger?”

Avery’s mouth flew open. Ben had crossed the line. He must have known that, too, because his face softened and he opened his mouth to recant. Avery didn’t give him the chance. “That’s what this is about. I’ve lost my phone before and you didn’t give a shit. This is about Derrick, isn’t it?”

Ben swallowed and clenched his fists. “I just don’t think it’s right for you to spend your time like that when we’re here on business.”

Avery’s blood boiled. She could hardly believe these words were coming out of his mouth. It was so unlike him to be uncouth. Avery would have sooner believed that Benedict had been replaced by an alien than willingly spout off these words.

“Listen to me,” she said, getting closer to her boss. “It is _not_ your business who I decide to fuck! I have my work life and my private life. That’s my private life, Ben!”

“When your private life interrupts your work life, that’s when I take issue!” Ben yelled.

“What, like when Charlie got fresh with me, and you were all-too-happy to step in and save me?”

“That was different!”

“Why, because I didn’t fuck him?”

Ben turned his head away. He had his hands on his hips, breathing intently out his nose. He shook his head slightly and said, “I don’t want you to do that ever again. Not when we’re working.”

Avery laughed at the sheer absurdity of his request. “What, so you’re allowed to date on your free time, but I can’t? I never asked _you_ if your dates with Clarissa affected your work! It’s not my business who you decide to shag, and it shouldn’t be your business about me, either!”

“I never had sex with Clarissa!”

Avery closed her gaping mouth. “You didn’t?” For some reason, it gave her relief.

Ben shook his head. “No.”

“Well . . .” Avery looked at the floor, then back at her boss. “Well, it’s none of my business, anyway! I don’t ask you about your sex life! I don’t _care_!”

“Well, I do!” Ben shouted.

“Why?” Avery yelled. “Why is it any of your bloody business?”

“Because I don’t want you dating him!”

“ _Why_?” Avery demanded.

“Because I’m in love with you!”

The air went still. Avery stepped back as if she had been pushed. She searched Ben’s eyes. They roamed across her face, brimming with hopeful tears.

“What did you say?” Avery whispered.

“I love you,” Ben said. “I’m mad for you. I-I didn’t want to tell you because . . .” Ben sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know, I didn’t want it to affect our friendship or your job. I didn’t want to lose you—”

“But . . .” Avery closed her eyes and held up a finger to pause time. She was still trying to catch up to what he had said. One minute they were yelling, and the next minute, he was claiming to be in love with her. It didn’t make sense. “But at New Year’s . . . you said you were embarrassed after I kissed you. You said you wanted to forget it.”

Ben looked at her, confused. “I thought _I_ kissed you. That’s why I said those things. I thought you were going to quit because . . .” Ben’s face softened. “ _You_ kissed _me_?”

Avery nodded slowly, her mouth still open.

“So . . . does that mean . . .?”

Avery nodded again. She felt tears springing in her eyes, same as Ben. “What about Clarissa?” she whispered.

“I only dated her to get my mind off of you.” Ben smiled slightly. “It didn’t work.”

Avery breathed out a laugh. She pressed her trembling lips together, then said, “I’m sorry about all of this. If I had known there was even a chance you felt . . .” Avery lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”

Ben carefully reached his hands out and placed them on Avery’s cheeks. He willed her to look at him and brushed his thumb under her eye where a rouge tear fell. “I’m waiting for you to say it, Ms. Lorris.”

Avery laughed. She was dizzy from the rollercoaster of emotions—rage, confusion, guilt, happiness. She had always dreamed he would hold her like this and say those words. Now that it was happening, Avery could hardly believe it. She blinked a few times to make sure this wasn’t all some wonderful dream. Ben smiled at her, waiting for her response.

Avery took Ben’s left hand from her cheek and kissed the palm. She held it gently and said, “Would you like to go on a date with me, Benedict?”

“Fish tacos at the pier?”

Avery grinned, put her hand to the back of his neck, and pulled him down for a kiss. Ben snaked his right hand around her waist to hold her close. He parted from her lips slightly and said, “I’m sorry for being such a prick.”

“Oh, shut up,” Avery whispered.

She tugged him closer by the neck and kissed him again. Their mouths opened to allow their tongues to touch. Benedict moaned as he tilted his head to take more of her in. Avery pushed her chest up against him, holding onto his head as his tongue massaged hers. They were close enough to the bed where all Ben hand to do was back up a little before he was on his back, urging Avery on top of him. Their lips were reunited again. Ben ran his hands up Avery’s spine as she straddled him. They both giggled as they kissed, realizing the absurd abruptness to which they had arrived.

“Is this really happening?” Avery asked, breathless as Ben kissed her neck.

“I think so,” Benedict growled against her skin.

Avery grinded her hips against his and felt his hard shaft taking shape through the denim of his jeans. _I did that_ , Avery thought. _That’s for me_. She sat up and took her shirt off, revealing her light pink bra. She was suddenly relieved that she had color matched her panties. Ben sat up with her, both still connected at the hip, and kissed the tops of her breasts. Avery threw her head back and moaned, grinding her hips closer to him again.

“Ben,” Avery sighed, running her fingers through his hair.

He put his hands on her back and raised his head from her chest. “Tell me what you like. What can I do?”

Avery chuckled. His request was desperate, as though he were as eager to please her as most people are eager to breathe after being underwater for so long. The fear of waking up from this perfect dream was still so present that Avery asked, “Tell me again that this is really happening.”

“It’s real,” Ben said. He kissed her neck, whispering over and over again, “ _It’s real, it’s real_ —”

Avery reached between their hips and unbuttoned Ben’s jeans. She slipped her hand under the fabric and grasped the erection hiding in his briefs. Benedict moaned against Avery’s neck and pressed on her back. She slid her palm up and down, his cock hardening even more.

“Ugh, God,” Ben mumbled.

He turned his lips to Avery’s and kissed her deeply. The more their tongues fought, the faster Avery stroked him. Warm desire spread between her legs like honey. She needed to see him, to have him inside her. The ache was too much to bear.

Then, as if reading her mind, Ben took Avery’s hand from out of his pants and flipped her over on her back in a fluid movement. He kissed down her flat belly as he worked the buttons of her jeans. Just as Ben lowered the zipper, his cell phone rang. Both of them looked up, annoyed.

“Ignore it,” Avery panted.

Ben looked at the dresser where his mobile was. It was probably the director wondering why he wasn’t in San Bernadino yet. If he missed shooting, he would surely get reprimanded, maybe even labeled a diva by the rest of the cast.

“Fuck.” Ben stood and went to the dresser. Avery fell back against the bed in despair. The number on the phone was a London area code. “Hello?”

Avery sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. She reached for her shirt and pulled it back on. They would have to leave for the shoot anyway, with no time to truly be together in a way that was special or sensual.

“Are you sure?” Ben asked the mystery caller. “When?”

Avery zipped her jeans and stood. Benedict’s face was serious and distraught. They couldn’t have _fired_ him over being late, could they? It wasn’t possible.

“No, okay.” Ben glanced at Avery briefly, raw terror filling his eyes. “I’m on my way. Stay where you are. I’m coming.” Benedict hung the phone up and stared at it a moment, his hand trembling.

“What is it?” Avery asked. “Was it the studio—?”

“That was my mum.” Ben looked at Avery, tears clouding his ice-blue eyes. “My dad’s been in an accident. He’s in hospital in London.”


	20. Pray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Avery arrive back in London at the news of Ben's father being in a coma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Sorry for the long wait! Midterms were killer. In case any of you are interested, here's my tumblr: http://onceuponanobsessedfan.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Now you can bug me for updates in TWO places! ;)  
> Thanks again for your patience, guys. I love you all.

They took the next flight out directly to London. In their hurry to the airport, Avery called all the necessary people to let them know of their departure, and they were met with no resistance. Benedict called Wanda on the airplane phone once an hour for an update on his father’s condition.

Timothy and Wanda had been in London for a friend’s birthday. Wanda wanted to stay at their friend’s for a nightcap, but her husband decided to catch a cab back to their hotel. They were driving down the A402 when a car cut across them at an intersection and t-boned the cab. The driver only suffered a few scratches and bruises, but Timothy had hit his head on the window and suffered a concussion, then promptly slipped into a coma when he arrived at the University College Hospital.

Every hour, Ben hoped for good news. Every hour, it was the same.

Avery sat next to Ben on the flight. When she wasn’t making calls to his publicist or agent, she held his hand and offered words of support. “He’ll be all right,” she said. “I’ll bet he’s awake as soon as we get there.”

But the plane landed in Heathrow and still Wanda could not report good news. They hailed a taxi straight to the hospital and Avery called a service to have his luggage delivered right to his home. She had thought about getting a separate cab to take her home and give Ben some private time with his family, but the way he squeezed her hand suggested he needed all the support she could give.

At the hospital, Ben was directed to his father’s room immediately. Wanda was outside the room, as well as her daughter Tracy. As soon as she saw her son, Wanda enveloped him in a tight hug.

“Oh, my darling,” she cried. “Oh my dear.”

Benedict parted and looked at his mother. “You’re okay?”

“It’s been . . .” Wanda’s face scrunched as she resisted the urge to cry. She looked tired and worn-down, mascara smudged under her eyes and hair a mess. She pulled her son into another embrace. “Oh, my darling.”

“It’s okay, Mum,” Ben murmured. “It’s all right.” He spotted his half-sister waiting behind their mother and released Wanda to give her a hug. “God, Trace. Thank you for being here.”

“Of course,” Tracy said into his shoulder. They parted. “I didn’t think we’d still be here. I thought he’d . . . I thought he would have—” She put a hand to her mouth and choked back a sob. Benedict hugged her again and kissed her head.

Avery stood a good distance away, giving the family room to be together. She leaned against the wall and kept a weather eye on Ben. Anything he needed, she would get for him in a flash.

“Can I see him?” Ben asked his mother.

Wanda nodded, her beautiful blue eyes fraught with worry. Benedict slowly opened the door to his father’s room. He only got halfway in when he stopped and stared. There were tubes and wires sticking out of him like a robot. He had an oxygen tube down his throat and machines at his side that monitored his heart, blood pressure, brain activity, and probably everything else in between. Timothy had a large white bandage wrapped around his head. He looked at least ten years older and a hundred times frailer.

Ben slowly approached his father. The door sighed shut behind him. He sat on a chair by the bed, his mother’s indent still visible from hours of keeping post. Benedict looked at all the machines and they flashed and beeped and lit up. He reached out and took his father’s hand.

“Dad?” Ben whispered. “Can you hear me?”

Timothy was still. His chest moved up and down and his pulse was steady, but any other sign of life was gone. He looked the way he did when he would fall asleep by the telly after Christmas dinner.

“Dad, I’m here. I’m right here.” Ben leaned down and gently kissed his father’s hand. He felt a great upheaval in his chest, as though his heart had turned into a patch of thorns that was growing up his throat. He blinked quickly but the tears came anyway. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he croaked. Ben sniffled and wiped his eyes. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

He watched his father’s face intently for any sign of recognition or light or flicker of consciousness. Were it not for the machines around him, Timothy would be . . . well, Ben didn’t want to think of the alternative. He was still here. His chest was still moving, so oxygen was getting to his brain. That’s all that mattered. There was still time for everything else.

000000

Avery paced in the waiting room, murmuring on her phone. She looked around uneasily at the others in the room, somber men and women waiting for good news for their own families. Benedict was still with his father, and Wanda had gone down to the cafeteria with Tracy for coffee.

“You sure I can’t do anything, _priya_?” Nani asked over the phone.

“No, I’m okay,” Avery whispered. “I can’t really talk, I just wanted you and Raj to know I’m back in London safely. I may not be home for a few days yet.”

“That’s fine. Call me later when things calm down, yeah?”

“Okay. Love you.”

Avery hung up her phone and pocketed it. She sat on a squeaky fake leather chair by the door and checked her inbox on her phone. Avery hadn’t told Nanita about Ben’s father—this information was on a need-to-know basis. His agent had already been notified, who talked to Ben’s publicist, who made a statement to the press calling it a “family emergency.” The paparazzi had buzzed around them when they landed at Heathrow, so inquiring wannabe reporters were thirsty for more.

Avery made a few more miscellaneous calls, then left the waiting room to stand nervously outside of Timothy’s room. She didn’t know what else to do. She felt completely helpless, despite her best efforts to make things easier for Ben’s affairs outside of the hospital. Avery peeked inside the window of Timothy’s room and was surprised to see Wanda sitting next to her husband instead of Benedict. Her coffee sat on the end table untouched. She held her husband’s hand and murmured to him soothingly.

Avery almost knocked to let herself in, then stopped. She already felt like a burden, an extra body in the way when all they needed was family to get through this. Avery felt as though her mere presence was zapping the healing vibes from Timothy. She liked and admired the man, but she didn’t possess that special kind of familial love that he needed most to survive. Avery turned and headed back down the hall towards the waiting room. She was met around the corner by Tracy.

“Heya,” Tracy said, stopping Avery. “You’re Ben’s PA, right?”

 “Yes, um . . . Avery.” She put her hand out.

Tracy reached out and enveloped Avery in a tight hug. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“You are?” Avery asked.

“Of course.” Tracy held Avery at arm’s length. “Your support means the world to us.”

“Oh. Well . . .” Avery looked at the floor. “Erm, have you seen Ben—Benedict?”

“I just passed him on his way to the chapel.”

Avery smiled and nodded at Tracy. “Thank you.” She squeezed Tracy’s hand encouragingly then continued down the hall. Avery followed the signs for the hospital chapel. She stopped at the doors and looked through the stained-glass windows. It was blurry inside, but she could make out a man’s figure in one of the pews.

Avery opened the door and slipped in carefully. The chapel was dimly-lit with a few rows of pews, an altar at the front, and pictures of various religious symbols on the walls. A man wearing a black _kippa_ was in the front row, mumbling a prayer and rocking as he held white and blue scarf. Avery looked to her left and saw Ben sitting at the last pew in the back. She wrung her hands together and reached out to gently touch his shoulder. Benedict looked up before she had the chance.

“Sorry,” Avery whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Ben smiled wearily at her and scooted over in the pew. He signaled for her to sit next to him. Avery obliged, tucking her purse by her side. They didn’t speak. Ben continued looking forward, hands clasped in his lap. Avery glanced at him and noticed his eyes were red and puffy.

“How is everyone?” Ben asked.

“The same,” Avery said. She swallowed and aimed her gazed at the altar. She wished she could give him better news. She wished she could wave a magic wand and make all this shit disappear. The best she could do, though, was say, “I called a cleaner and had them tidy up your mum and dad’s house. I also had a caterer bring some food over so they have something to eat when they get back home.”

Ben nodded. “Thank you.”

Avery pursed her lips. “It’s my job.”

“No.” Ben looked at Avery. “I mean _thank you_ . . . for everything.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I could have handled this without you.”

Avery grinned. “You look okay to me.”

Benedict returned the smile. He unfurled his hand and placed it palm-up on the bench. Avery took it gently. He laced his fingers through hers and scooted closer to Avery. They sat silently again, staring ahead as though they were listening to a preacher give them comforting words. Perhaps, in Ben’s mind, there was one.

“Do you ever pray?” Benedict asked.

Avery looked at him. She could have told him the truth that, no, she wasn’t a godly person. But he didn’t need the truth right now. He needed to be comforted. “When I was twelve, I went to church with my neighbor’s parents. I had spent the night with my girlfriend, Cherry, and they always went to Sunday mass. My dad had to work early that morning, so I had no choice but to join them. Cherry was Catholic, so they had all these rules and hand signals and stuff I didn’t understand—”

Ben snorted a laugh.

“During the service, the priest brought out the wine and communion wafers. Naturally, I thought it was snack time, so I jumped in line with the rest and got myself a cracker and some Bordeaux. Tasted like shit.”

Benedict laughed. The Jewish man at the front turned and glared at them. Avery lowered her voice and continued, “Anyway, Cherry’s mum was furious with me. I was an unwashed heathen who treated communion like a buffet. Never went back after that little _faux pas_.” Avery looked at Ben and placed her other hand over his. “I’ll pray with you now, if you like.”

He glanced at her slowly and smiled as best he could. “I would like that.”

Avery smiled back. She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed his eyes. Ben tilted his head down and muttered pleas to whatever deity would listen. When he thought of his father, motionless in his hospital bed with machines surrounding him, a rubber band shrunk around his heart and choked him mercilessly. He gripped Avery’s hand tighter and leaned his head against hers, tears spilling down his face.

“I can’t,” Benedict whispered. “I can’t do this . . .”

Avery released his hand and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him against her chest in a comforting embrace. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s okay—”

Ben emitted a sob and clasped his hands around Avery’s back, holding on to her desperately.

“What can I do?” Avery asked, stroking his hair. “Tell me what to do.” Her voice cracked as she fought back tears.

“Stay with me,” Ben replied. “Just stay a little longer.”

Avery kissed the top of Benedict’s head. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

And in that moment, she knew she meant it in every way. Not just as his PA, or his friend, or some kind of romantic interest. She was here for it all—the ugly crying and tense family moments, the 6am morning breath and blueberry trifle for lunch. She was here for twelve-hour flights and Parisian photoshoots, senseless disagreements and heavenly sex. In this moment, Avery had no idea why she had been so reluctant this past year-and-a-half. She could have kicked herself for all the time they wasted, but felt hopeful for all the time they would have in the future.

Avery turned her mouth to Ben’s ear and whispered, “I love you.”

In response, he held her tighter.

0000000

Over the next few hours, there was still no improvement with Timothy’s condition, but calls of support were coming from everywhere. Martin and Amanda offered to ditch their holiday in Scotland early, but Ben insisted that they stay and enjoy themselves. JJ Abram and a few of the cast back in L.A. sent their regards. Mark Gatiss offered Wanda a place to stay during the ordeal, and Andrew Scott gave them the number of a specialist in Switzerland. All of them sent flowers.

When visiting hours were over, only Wanda was allowed to stay with her husband. She was set up with a little cot by his hospital bed and was quite content to be there and keep a weather eye on his condition. Avery booked rooms for Benedict and Tracy at the hotel across the street.

Before they left the hospital, Ben whispered to Avery, “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Avery said she would. It was hardly an invitation for sex, not after the day they had, but Avery saw it as another thing she could do to help Ben feel better. Not to mention, she would have rather been with him than any other place in the world.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” Benedict said as they walked into their hotel room.

Avery flipped the light on and said, “Can I make you some tea?”

“I can do it.”

“It’s no trouble—”

“No, please.” Ben held a hand up. “If I don’t keep myself busy, I might go mad with worry.”

Avery relented and sat at the breakfast nook by the window, watching him fill the kettle with water and search the bare cupboards for a box of tea. He put the water on the stove and got two ceramic mugs from under the sink. Avery rested her elbow on the table and put her chin in her hand. Benedict moved slowly, his back hunched and tense, t-shirt wrinkled and wilting around the collar. It was almost ten o’clock, but it might as well have been three in the morning.

Avery stood from the table and went to the bathroom. She checked the cupboards and found bath salts, the fancy kind that smelled like lavender and some other exotic plants. Avery ran the water in the tub and put the stopper in when it was an acceptable temperature. Ben appeared in the doorway after hearing the water and said, “What’re you doing?”

Avery stood from the edge of the claw foot tub and took Benedict’s hand, leading him inside the bathroom. He stood quietly, letting her unbutton his shirt and peel it away from his torso. The mirror fogged as the bathtub filled up, the salts wafting a gentle scent of spring into the room.

“Avery, you don’t have too—”

“Shh,” Avery whispered. “Just relax. I’ll get the tea. You get in the tub.” She kissed Ben’s cheek and left him in the bathroom to finishing undressing. When she returned with a tray of tea and biscuits that came complementary with the room, Benedict was already soaking in the tub. His arms were stretched out on the edges of the basin, head tilted back against the wall, eyes staring ahead wearily.

Avery threw him a comforting smile and set the tea tray on the closed lid of the toilet. She sat down on the tiled floor next to the tub and poured him a cuppa. “I’m afraid there’s no milk,” she said.

“That’s fine.” He sat up straight and took the cup from Avery’s hand. He blew on the drink and took a sip.

Avery crossed her legs and drank her tea slowly, watching the steam rise from tub. She had caught a glimpse of his naked body when she first arrived with the tea and would have been lying to herself if it didn’t excite her. It was the most naked she had ever seen him, but also the most vulnerable.

Ben set his teacup in the soap tray cut into the wall. He put his hands under water, then rubbed his face, washing away the awfulness of this day. Benedict laid his arms along the rim of the tub again and looked at Avery. “Why are you so good to me?”

Avery swallowed her gulp of tea, shrugged, and set the cup on the floor. “Because you’re in pain and I want to help you. And because you would do the same for me.”

Ben reached out and put a wet hand on Avery’s cheek. She leaned into his touch and smiled. “I knew I did the right thing by hiring you,” Benedict said.

Avery laughed. She took his hand and kissed the palm. “Hey, I was thinking—when your dad wakes up, we should throw him a party.”

“A party?”

“Yeah. Just a little get-together with the people he loves.” Avery’s smile faded and she looked down. “Something to look forward to . . .”

Ben nodded. They fell silent. Avery took another drink of her tea, set it aside, and stared at her hands in her lap. “My mum died when I was ten. I think I told you that once.”

“You did,” Ben replied.

Avery glanced at him, hoping to gauge if her story would be too painful for him to hear right now. But he was looking at her patiently, waiting for her to go on. “My dad picked me up from school,” Avery continued, “which was strange, because Mum always picked me up and walked me home. Every day. Dad and I drove straight to the hospital and he told me along the way that there was a bus crash downtown. Mum had . . .” Avery stopped and placed a hand over her chest, recollecting the horrible day that was as clear to her as thirty seconds ago. “The bus had flipped over and Mum got, erm . . . I guess _impaled_ by some glass in her chest. She was still breathing when we got to the hospital, but we couldn’t see her because they were trying to stabilize her. My dad was screaming at the nurses and I was so frightened, I huddled in the corner of the waiting room and shut my eyes and covered my ears and . . .”

Avery squeezed her eyes shut as tears fell down her face. Every time she thought about it, her chest ached and her skin prickled. Avery looked at Ben. He was staring at her, mouth slightly open, his eyes moist.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have told you this—”

“What happened next?” Ben asked.

Avery sniffled. She shrugged. “A few minutes later, that was it. The doctor came in and told us she was gone. The look on my dad’s face was . . .” Avery shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

There was silence in the bathroom for a bit after her story. Avery felt terrible for even bringing it up. She thought maybe it would be comforting for Ben to know he wasn’t alone in what he was going through, but now she realized she had probably made things worse.

“How did you go on?” Benedict asked. “How did you keep living?”

Avery wiped her tears away and shook her head again. “I don’t know. You don’t, at first. But then days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months . . . You start eating your favorite foods again and watching your favorite shows and everything sort of falls back into place. It’s like starting a new book in the middle of a chapter. Eventually, you figure things out.”

Ben nodded slowly. He reached out and put his hand delicately on Avery’s neck, brushing her jawline with the pad of his thumb. “I’m glad you told me all of that.”

Avery sniffled again and said with the utmost sincerity, “Your father is going to be fine. He’s going to wake up soon and you’ll finish the book exactly where you started.”

Ben tilted his head and asked softly, “How do you know?”

Avery smiled. “Because I prayed for it.”


	21. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day brings good news for Benedict and Avery.

Amazingly, they slept.

After his bath, Benedict and Avery lay down on the queen-sized bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, chatting through the hours of the night. They talked about nothing of terrible importance—where they wanted to be in ten years, what they thought their lives would be like when they were young, their favorite music and movies and books—and a little after midnight, Ben drifted off to sleep as Avery stroked his hair, massaging his head with her nails. She was awake for a while yet, listening to his breathing and worrying over Timothy.

At 7:34 exactly, Benedict’s phone rang. Avery had rolled away from him during the night, almost to the edge of the bed, so Ben was able to reach his phone on the end table easily. It was Wanda. When he answered, she said simply, “He’s awake.”

Without coffee or a shave or even a change of clothes, Avery and Ben rushed across the street to the hospital. They were escorted directly to Timothy’s room, where Wanda sat beside him with a huge smile on her face.

Tim was sitting up in bed, wires still attached to him and the bandage still on his head, but his breathing tube had been removed and a tray of hospital food was placed before him. He smiled and waved at his son as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Morning, son,” Timothy said.

Ben breathed out a laugh and hugged his father, squeezing him gently and burying his head in the man’s shoulder. Benedict felt like a boulder had been lifted off his back. For the first time in many hours, he felt like he could breathe normally. “I’m so happy you’re all right,” Ben mumbled into his father’s neck.

Avery stood by the door, smiling. It was still early in the day, but the room already seemed brighter. She could swear there were birds chirping outside the window, and any shadows or darkness that lingered before were dashed away by the sheer relief and happiness that surrounded Timothy.

When Ben parted from his father, there were tears running down his cheeks. He kissed his mum and held her in an embrace. “Do you know what this git said to me earlier?” Wanda asked, motioning to her husband. “All night I stayed by his side, and he wakes up not an hour ago and asks for beans and toast!”

“Oh, all this fuss over a little nap,” Timothy said. His voice was still scratchy from the breathing tube and his eyes were weary, but he grinned and took his wife’s hand as though they were sitting in their parlor at home entertaining guests. “I’m quite all right, love.”

Wanda kissed her husband’s hand once, twice, three times to let him know that she loved him and hated him for his nonchalance. Timothy looked towards the door and squinted. “Is that Avery over there?”

Avery took a shy step forward and waved. “Hello, sir.”

Wanda held her hand out to Avery. “Come here, love.” Avery brushed past Benedict to Wanda and took her hand. “I want to thank you so much for all you’ve done for us. Ben is so lucky to have you in his life.”

“I am,” Ben agreed, beaming at his assistant. 

“You kept them in line, yeah?” Timothy asked. “Didn’t let them get too sentimental over an old sod like me?”

Avery laughed. “I did my best, sir. Your family loves you very much.” With some hesitation, Avery leaned over and gave him a quick hug. She would have let go much sooner, but Timothy held her in place.

“You’re a good girl,” Tim whispered.

Avery smiled and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

Wanda said to her son, “Darling, why don’t you give your father a chance to eat something? I’d love a coffee, as well.”

“Sure, Mum.” He gave his mother another kiss, his father another hug, and ushered Avery outside of the room to give Wanda and Tim some privacy.

Once they were in the hall, Avery wrapped her arms around Benedict in a hug. He squeezed her tightly around the waist, lifting her off the floor for a second. She laughed as he set her down and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, then finally her lips.

“This is the best morning ever,” Ben sighed.

“I’m just happy everything worked out,” Avery said. “I’m so, so happy.” She hugged Benedict again.

Ben kissed the top of her head and said, “Thank you so much for everything.” He held her a few moments longer, swaying gently, pressing his heart to her chest to let Avery know that he meant it. He was grateful for everything that she was—kind and selfless and stubborn and every bit as flawed as him.

They parted and Avery asked, “So . . . what now?” 

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” Ben admitted. He was still beaming, his lips stretched in an impossibly happy grin.

“Probably a good kip is in order, yeah?”

Ben reached out delicately and touched Avery’s hand. He had to be stealthy. Wanda may have been in the room with her husband, but she had eyes on the back of her head, and more good news in such a short amount of time would likely land her in a hospital bed next to Timothy. Benedict asked in a low voice, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Avery smiled. How could she say no to that deep, sultry voice, that boyish grin and those blushing cheeks? “I’d love to. Oh, but I better go home and get ready.”

Ben pointed a finger at her, mischief dancing along the galaxy of his many-colored eyes. “You go home and get dressed, wear something nice, and I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Define ‘wear something nice,’” Avery said.

Ben smiled again, baring his teeth. “Surprise me.”

0000000

And surprise him, she would.

Avery took a cab back to her flat and didn’t even think to call Nani to warn her of her impending arrival. She should have known, then, that she would be barging in on the most inopportune time of the day—when Nani had a client on her massage table in the living room.

Avery opened the apartmenr door to a large man lying face-down on Nanita’s burgundy masseuse table. He had a hairy back and balding crown from what Avery could glimpse. A beach towel covered his bare arse, normal-sized for the average person, but hardly a hand towel for this client. The flat was dark, save for candles and the sun filtering through the red curtains. Patchouli incense wafted throughout the room and Nani was decked in a traditional orange and gold sari, a red bindi smudged between her eyes.

Avery closed the door quietly, but it was too late. Nanita looked up from her work and gasped. “Oh, holy fuck!”

The man on the table raised his head to his masseuse. “Oi, what’s the problem?”

“Sorry,” Avery whispered.

“Are you all right?” Nani asked. “Is everything okay? Are you—?”

“I’m fine,” Avery said. “Finish your work.” She started for her bedroom, but Nani turned the lights on and started blowing out the candles.

“It hasn’t been an hour yet!” the fat mad cried. He was Scottish, and Avery saw from the corner of her eyes that he was at least middle-aged.

“Yes, yes. Good.” Nani rolled out her thick Jaipur accent and shepherded the man off her table. “All chakra’s are aligned, sahib, you are very well healed. May Krishna bless you, blah blah—”

The man dropped the towel from his privates just as Nani chuckled his clothes at him. “I’m not payin’ you fer the full hour, lass!”

Nani pushed him towards the door, blabbering a string of Hindi. When he was out of the apartment, Nani locked the door and rushed to Avery’s room. Her friend was deep in her closet, combing the rack for a dress.

“Why do you put on a show like that?” Avery asked. “They’ll still pay you without all the incense and Hare Krishna stuff.”

“What’s going on?” Nani cried, sitting on the bed.

Avery turned to her friend. She opened her mouth to speak, deliberating on what, exactly, to tell her. “Everything’s fine,” she assured. “There was a bit of a medical emergency in Ben’s family, but it’s all good now.”

“God, I thought someone was dying!” Nani took off her giant gold-hooped earrings and threw them on the dresser.

“Someone almost was,” Avery muttered, digging through her closet again.

“So what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at a hospital or on a plane somewhere, or a bunker where they store you PAs until you’re needed?”

Avery bit her bottom lip as she smiled. She couldn’t keep her friend in the dark for much longer, and if anyone could hold a secret, it was Nani. Avery thought she might positively burst if she didn’t tell someone about her and Benedict—she already felt like she was living in a strange dream where she was apt to wake up from any moment. Letting someone else in on the fun would cement it as real.

Avery turned to her friend and said, “I have a date tonight.”

Nani cocked her head to the side. “With who?”

Avery smiled wider. She clasped her hands together at her front and tipped her head forward a bit. Nani’s confused expression melted into shock, then happiness, then utter excitement. “Shut up!” she yelled. Nani stood and jumped up and down. “Shut up, shut up, shut UP!”

Avery laughed. “I need help, Nan! He’s picking me up at eight and he told me to dress nicely.”

But Nani was still too overcome with emotion to spring into action. She danced around the room, kicking up her sari, her long braid whipping through the air.

Avery rolled her eyes and looked through her closet again. Nothing seemed worthy enough for a date with Benedict Cumberbatch. She didn’t even know what he had planned, but if it was anything short of fish and chips along the Thames, Avery would still feel woefully underdressed. It was strange not knowing where they would be later—for over a year, Avery knew Ben’s schedule better than he did, and going out with him without knowing their minute-by-minute plans left her feeling naked and scatter-brained.

Avery sighed. “Nani?”

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—!”

“Nani.”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God—”

“Nanita!”

Nani stopped bouncing and looked at her friend. Her face lit up with an idea and she took Avery’s hand, tugging her out of the room. “I have a dress you can borrow. I was going to wear it for my birthday, but this is much more important.”

Avery tried to protest—Nani was at least a size smaller and a B-cup to rival Avery’s D—but the green dress she had her friend slip into was both form-flattering and left little in the way of imagination cleavage-wise. 

“Nani, I can barely breathe in this,” Avery said. She stood before the floor-length mirror in Nanita’s room and tugged at the fabric as it chocked her waist.

“God willing, you won’t be wearing it that long tonight.” Nani winked. “Practice sitting down.”

Avery grunted and groaned, heaving her bosoms up as she plopped on the bed, only to fall off completely when she attempted to let out a breath. “This isn’t working.”

“Trust in me, priya.” Nanita helped her friend to her feet and unzipped the dress. “Tell me exactly how this all happened.”

As Avery disrobed, she told her friend the events of California, skipping over a few parts that weren’t necessary for the sake of getting to the juicy bits. She told Nani about how they almost shagged in the hotel room in L.A. before Ben got the call about his father. Avery was coy about the details of Benedict’s body—how he breathed arduously when they kissed, how his large hands moved delicately over her body, and how confidently he had proclaimed his love for her when they were in the throes of a heated argument. Nani was so captivated by the story, she lay on her bed and stared up at the ceiling dreamily.

“It’s like a fairytale,” Nani sighed.

Avery grinned. She was on the floor in her underwear, primping her toenails and painting them a fiery shade of red. “It’s a bit scary though, too. I mean, what if we go out on a proper date and we don’t get on?”

“Impossible,” Nani assured. “You already know everything about him.”

“Yeah, but that’s the other thing—what if things get weird on the job if we hit it off?”

A knock sounded at the front door. Nani groaned. “Bollocks, it’s my ten o’clock.” She straightened her sari and reapplied the red dot on her forehead in the dresser mirror. “I’ve got a few more clients today—” Nani suddenly pointed to her friend. “Don’t you dare go out to a salon! I’m calling dibs on your hair and makeup.”

Avery chuckled. “Fine. I might catch up on some sleep, anyway.”

But Avery couldn’t sleep. As Nani tended to her client, sitar music clanging through the walls and jasmine incense filling the air vents, Avery tossed and turned in bed, thinking about her date with Ben that night. She imagined a romantic Parisian restaurant in the West End, with champagne and roses and a violin somewhere in the distance. The patrons would let them be, murmuring only occasionally about that famous actor and this mystery woman he was courting. Was she a model? An actress? No, she would tell them. I’m just like you!

Avery abandoned the idea of sleep and took a long, hot shower instead. By the time she got dressed (a pair of jeans and her Cambridge tee), it was nearly one o’clock and she was starved. Avery thought about picking through the fridge for leftovers, but it might ruin the illusion of perfect nirvana Nani was creating for her clients in the living room. Avery checked her messages and answered some e-mails and texts from inquiring members of Team Cumberbatch. At the news of Timothy’s recovery, J.J. Abrams was hoping to have Ben back in the States by next week. Avery made a note for herself to check flight times for the following Thursday to give Benedict at least another week with his father.

When her growling stomach couldn’t handle it any longer, Avery slipped out of the apartment and headed downstairs. Her face was buried in her mobile, so much so that she didn’t notice the man coming up the front stoop until she bumped right into him.

“Oh, sorry!” Avery cried. She looked up and saw Benedict before her—showered, shaved, and wearing a smart black button-down with a silver vest. He was carrying a bouquet of roses. “Hey,” was all Avery could say.

“Hello.” Ben smiled. “I was just, uh . . . Hello.”

They laughed nervously. “Erm . . . what’re you doing here?” Avery asked. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes. Just fine. Dad’s driving Mum and Tracy crazy with passages from John le Carré.”

“Good!” Avery said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “That’s good.” She suddenly remembered how plainly she was dressed and crossed her arms. “I thought you were coming ‘round eight?”

Ben dipped his head shyly and blushed. “I couldn’t wait that long.” He held the flowers out to Avery. “For you.”

Avery accepted the bouquet and breathed them in. The roses were freshly-cut, as red as the bindi on Nanita’s forehead. She grinned and said, “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Benedict cleared his throat and held out his hand. “Ready for that date?”

“Now?” Avery looked down at herself. “But I’m a mess!”

Ben smiled at her daft exclamation. “You’re beautiful.” He took a step forward a locked Avery in a deep, sensual kiss. Benedict rubbed his nose against hers and whispered, “And if I had to wait a full day to do that, I would have gone mad.”

Avery grinned, her eyes closed, reluctant to wake up from the nap she had probably ended up taking in her room. Her eyes fluttered open and, thankfully, he was still there. “Where to, Mr. Cumberbatch?”


	22. "Coffee"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery and Ben's first date ends with a bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies! Thank you again for your patience! This chapter was so much fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it!  
> Please note that it contains strong sexual content. Weeeee!

It could have been anything giving Avery this tingly feeling in her belly.

It could have been the stray curtain of sunlight that hit them as they walked. It could have been the oily fish-and-chips smell from the kiosk along the river. It could have been the warmth of Benedict’s hand as he slipped it through Avery’s.

That afternoon, as they walked along the Thames River—smart boathouses parked along the bank and old men feeding pigeons on benches—Avery had one of those rare moments where everything felt perfect. Everything was warm and joyous and comfortable, like sitting on a beach with a cool drink and a good book. Perfectly perfect.

And Benedict couldn’t keep his hands off of Avery. When he wasn’t holding her hand, he was gently touching the lower part of her back, or brushing his shoulders against hers when they walked, or grazing his fingertips on the backside of her hand. Avery tried to chat like a normal person, but she could barely get two words out before blushing and having to start the sentence over.

“Fancy some chips?” Ben asked.

Avery nodded. “Sure.”

He bought them each a package of fish with chips on top and asked for curry on his fries. They sat on a bench to eat and Avery laughed as Ben licked the curry from his long fingers. “I once knew a boy who ate marmite with his chips,” she said.

“Christ,” Ben remarked. “I hope you never kissed him.”

Avery laughed and brushed her thumb along the corner of Benedict’s mouth to catch a glob of curry. She licked it away and said, “I never kissed him, thank God. He ate marmite with everything—eggs, beans, pasta . . .”

“What was his name?” Ben asked. He took a chip with curry and held it up to Avery’s mouth.

Avery took a bite of his offering and said, “Thomas. We went to grade school together.”

“I knew a girl called Pamela when I was eight. She told me that eating three boxes of Terry’s Chocolate Orange would made my skin smell like oranges.”

Avery laughed. “Did you believe her?”

“Of course I did,” Ben said, grinning. “I wanted her to like me. I took a few quid from my mum’s purse and bought about six packages. An hour later, I was vomiting chocolate into Pamela’s face.”

Avery dropped her fish and chips onto her lap and threw her head back, laughing. “That’s _disgusting_!” she hollered.

“I don’t know, I think marmite breath is worse.”

Avery pushed his shoulder as she giggled. “You’re awful.”

Ben smiled widely, his eyes focused on his food. He found it hard to look at Avery too long, especially when she was smiling. Every time he let his eyes linger too long on her, his chest tightened and a swirling motion invaded his stomach. It took every bit of willpower he had not to kiss every inch of her neck. They may have gotten cozy in LA, but this was their first date—he didn’t want to muck things up. And there would be time for touching and kissing and moaning later.

Benedict slowly put his arm around Avery. Nothing scandalous about that. He couldn’t help that he liked being near her, liked touching and smelling and feeling her. Avery kissed his cheek and went on eating. She didn’t dare let on that the mere action of putting his arm around her made Avery want to rip his clothes off with her teeth. He was a posh bloke. She had to be a lady about these things.

Off in the distance, Avery heard what she thought was the sound of a dry noodle being cracked in half. She looked to her right and a man was crouched three benches over, wearing a Burberry coat, a pair of ugly aviator sunglasses, and a camera poised just below his nose. Avery’s heart dropped. _Paparazzi_.

She tugged on Ben’s sleeve and said, “We’ve got company.”

Benedict looked where Avery was pointing and his carefree smile vanished. “Bugger.”

“What should we do?”

“Well, normally I just ignore them, but I’m not sure I want our friends and family finding out about our relationship from _OK!_ _Magazine_.” Benedict looked to his left, checked his watch, then stood and grabbed Avery’s hand. “Follow me. I have an idea.”

They ditched their food and made their way through the winding streets to Trafalgar Square. They walked briskly, never running, and every time Avery turned her head to see if the photographer was following them, he was always there, creeping closely like a sleuth in one of those awful B-movie capers.

“Can’t shake him,” Avery said. She had her hand in Ben’s, the shutter of the paparazzi clicking wildly close by.

Ben led them northeast through a few more busy streets, until they finally arrived at a costume shop on at Charing Cross Underground. A sign on the door read: **no photography permitted inside the building**. “Oh, brilliant,” Avery remarked. “Are we going to hide in here all day?”

“Hardly.” Benedict led them inside.

Upon seeing him, the shop girl got into a proper tizzy and asked the actor for his autograph. A few other patrons buzzed around him having a fit, but it was a thousand times better than some anonymous bloke stealing their intimate moments.

When the excitement finally died down, Avery and Ben walked around the shop, admiring lavish costumes and funny masks. There were tacky Halloween costumes made of polyester and plastic, intricate Venetian masks made of fine silk and ceramic, and an entire aisle devoted to fake blood. The two got busy trying things on.

Avery wore a gold and white mask while Benedict tried on a likeness of Barack Obama. “I could pass, couldn’t I?” he asked.

“Shut up," Avery laughed, “Try this one.” She handed him a Frankenstein mask and, oddly enough, it fit very well with his tall stature. “Lovely. Give me a growl.”

Ben raised his clawed hands and growled, making a pass at Avery’s hips. He tickled her sides and she howled with laughter. They moseyed on to the “wacky hats” section and tried on a few gems. Ben put on a furry purple pimp hat with a long feather. Avery managed to snap a picture with her Blackberry before he shoved a plush hotdog hat on her head. They took a picture together and he sneaked a kiss on her cheek just as the flash went off.

After another half hour of touring the shop, Avery asked, “So what about out little friend outside? Do you think he’s gone?”

Ben shook his head. “No, they don’t give up easily.” He plucked a few items from the shelf they were browsing—a package of fake mustaches, some glittery temporary tattoos, and a Dr. Seuss hat that was roughly the size of a Christmas goose. He paid the cashier, gave Avery a wink, and led his date to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, they were strolling the streets of London once more Avery had on a fake mustache and the Dr. Seuss hat. Ben put one of the temporary tattoos on his face—a sparkly pink pony—and gave Avery his vest to wear. It wasn’t the best disguise, but damn if it wasn’t the most fun. Wherever they walked, people stopped and stared. Some laughed, some sneered, some held their children closer. Avery and Ben giggled like drunkards. She looked over her shoulder and the photographer was gone.

The pair sat outside a pub for a pint. Avery kept her hat and mustache on, but Ben rubbed the tattoo off with a wet napkin.

“No fair!” Avery cried. “I don’t see why I have to be in disguise, anyway. They’re not interested in me.”

“True, but it’s bloody funny,” Ben said, smiling. “And you look quite fetching, still.”

Avery rolled her eyes and grinned. “This is truly one of the most bizarre dates I’ve ever been on.”

Ben reached across the table and took Avery’s hand. He kissed it palm down and held it to his cheek. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Avery chuckled. “So, um . . . what’s next after this?”

Benedict surprised her by looking down shyly. He blushed and said, “Coffee at my place?”

0000000

Apparently, “coffee” meant something completely different to both of them.

They fell into Benedict’s flat—kissing and groping and stumbling around trying to find the stairs to the bedroom. Avery took the Dr. Seuss hat and ripped her fake moustache off, throwing them across the room to Ben’s relief. They fell back against the stairs, lips glued together. Ben slipped his hands up Avery’s shirt, then pulled away and stood.

“I have an idea.” In a swift motion, he threw Avery over his shoulder like a fireman and started carrying her up the stairs.

Avery laughed and squealed in delight. “You’re mad! Don’t drop me!”

“I’ve carried heavier things up these stairs,” Ben replied. When they got to the second floor, he set Avery on her feet and they continued their dance of kissing and searching for the bedroom.

Though they both wouldn’t admit it, Avery and Ben had been waiting for this moment all day. They had taken the tube to Chelsea and stood close by, the throng of people commuting home from work packing the train like a can of sardines. Even though Avery had still been wearing that ridiculous mustache and hat, Ben couldn’t take his eye off of her curvy hips, her taut breasts and strong arms that held onto the rail. He threw caution to the wind and slipped his arm around her waist, kissing her neck and breathing into her ear. She could have collapsed right then and there.

Luckily, they had made it to his flat before being glared at for public indecency.

Avery took the lead and pushed Benedict up against the wall. She began to unbutton his shirt and he worked the buckle of her belt. They kissed in between, smiling and giggling like teenagers having a go before his parents got home. When his shirt was successfully undone, Ben shrugged off his vest and button-down. Avery ran her fingers up his bare chest and kissed deeper, pressing her hips towards him.

As if his cock wasn’t hard enough, feeling Avery’s hips against his almost made him come on the spot. He grabbed her rear and pulled her up, willing Avery to wrap her legs around his waist. He carried her the rest of the way into his bedroom and dropped her on the bed.

“Now I know what a sack of potatoes feels like,” Avery said, smiling. She took her pants off to reveal a pair of white cotton panties.

Ben undid his jeans, pulled them off, and said, “You’re much better-looking that potatoes, love. Trust me.”

Avery laughed as he climbed on top her, kissing her neck and lips and collarbone and earlobe. She could see and feel the erection his was sporting through his briefs. He grinded against Avery and her panties went moist with desire. She took her shirt off and undid her bra. Ben wasted no time taking a breast in his mouth and suckling gently. His tongue flickered on her rock-hard nipple and she moaned. Avery ran her hands through Benedict’s hair and pulled ever-so-slightly.

Ben suddenly raised his head and made a guttural groan, like a lion stalking its prey. Avery chuckled and said, “Y’all right?”

Ben nodded fervently. “Yes, it’s just—” he kissed her neck “—my hair is quite tender—” he cupped one of Avery’s breasts in his hand and kissed her mouth “—and if you pull on it, it drives me wild.”

Avery grinned widely. “Ooh, you shouldn’t have told me that.”

“Don’t you dare,” Ben laughed.

Avery grasped a handful of his hair again and tugged. Ben closed his eyes. “ _Fuck_!”

She giggled. Benedict looked down at her with a wild, lustful smile. “You’re a bad girl.” In an effortless motion, he knelt at the edge of the bed before Avery’s legs, took her soaking underwear off, and buried his mouth over her wet snatch.

Avery clamped her eyes shut and cried out in pleasure. It happened so fast, she barely had time to register what he was doing before his tongue was on her clit. “Ohh my God,” Avery moaned. She arched her back and put her legs over his broad shoulders to bring him closer. Avery was no stranger to being eaten out, but the way Ben was doing it—sucking and licking as though she were a meal he couldn’t get enough of—she wanted to come after only half a minute.

Ben swirled his tongue along her opening, lapping up the juices that flowed from her. She tasted like heaven, and he didn’t even mind that she was unshaven. He smiled inwardly as she twitched and moaned, her voice carrying in the room. To give her this much ecstasy was all he could ever hope for in their relationship. Avery’s hands traveled to his head again and she massaged his scalp, urging him to keep going.

But he wasn’t done with her yet.

Benedict raised his head from between Avery’s legs and climbed on top of her once more. She reached down and helped him take his briefs off, freeing his cock. Avery stared at it as it lay suspended above her belly. It was big—not the biggest she had ever had, but just the right size. She could practically see it throbbing in pleasure and wanted nothing more than to return the favor of sucking his cock. Avery took Ben’s member in her hand, her heart racing, and began to sit up.

Ben gently put a hand on her wrist and said, “No, it’s okay. I want to be in you.”

Avery nodded and smiled. She kissed him deeply, brushing her thumb over the head of his cock. “Do you have a, uh . . .?”

“Yes.” Ben climbed off of her and crawled across the bed to the nightstand. He opened the drawer and pulled out a pack of condoms. Avery, meanwhile scooted to the head of the bed so she could lay back against a pillow.

 Benedict rolled a condom over his stiff prick and joined Avery on the bed. They cuddled for a bit, wrapped around each other, kissing fervently to keep the flame ignited. Ben’s hand traveled to Avery’s arse and he stroked it gently. Christ, she was fit in all the right places. Avery pressed her hands to his back and moaned as he licked and nipped her neck.

“Please,” she begged. “Please fuck me.”

Ben smiled. He loved hearing her talk dirty. It was a far cry from the poised, organized woman he had known for over a year. He could listen to her beg for sex all day and never get tired of it. Ben turned Avery over onto her back and climbed on top of her. She opened her legs, preparing herself for his cock. He slipped in easily, the warmth and wetness of her cunt making him shiver with desire.

Avery groaned and wrapped her legs around Benedict’s waist. He thrust slowly at first, letting her get used to his size, then pumped rapidly to hear her cry out in pleasure.  Ben kissed her neck and cupped her breast as he fucked her. She was tight and moved with him to a steady rhythm. It had been ages since he had gotten laid, and being with a woman he not only adored but genuinely loved, made this one of the best fucks of his life.

“God . . . _fuck_.” Benedict gritted his teeth as he slammed his cock into her.

Avery put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. He was hitting all the right places inside of her. “Yeah . . . oh, Christ, right there!”

Ben picked up the pace, holding Avery close to his chest as he pumped. He was already close, but he wanted their session to last as long as possible. Benedict rolled over onto his back, still connected to Avery. She rode his cock, keeping their pace. This was one of her favorite positions. She felt sexy with her hair falling all around a man’s face, and she loved watching Benedict’s expression explode into bliss.

Ben wrapped his strong arms around Avery’s waist and held her tight again as she bounced on top of him. He loved feeling her breasts against his chest, the muscles in her back tighten and relax as she humped him. “That’s good,” Ben murmured into her ear. “ _Unf_ . . . so good.”

Avery sat up lowered herself completely onto his cock. She sat still for a moment, enjoying the ecstatic look on his face, then grinded against him quickly. His prick rubbed against that sweet, sensitive spot deep within her and she cried out. “Oh God! Oh God, I’m coming!”

Ben grabbed Avery by the shoulders and pushed himself forward, laying Avery down on her back again so that he head was at the foot of the bed. He wanted to make her come with his own pace, his own thrusting hips and straining thighs. Avery held onto the edge of the bed above her head as Benedict slammed into her. He kissed her on the mouth and whispered, “Tell me when you’re close.”

“Don’t stop,” Avery pleaded.

Ben made that delightful growling noise again, like an animal charging in the wild, and fucked her steadily. It wasn’t until he touched her breast and simply rubbed his thumb along the sensitive nub of her nipple that Avery was sent over the edge. Her pussy clenched around him and she cried out.

“ _Ohhhh_ , God! Yes! Fuck!”

Ben nuzzled her neck as Avery’s orgasm washed over her. Her body twitched in spasms and she clutched the edge of the bed as if holding onto any sense of reality that was left. When the waves of please subsided, she opened her eyes and looked at Benedict. He hovered over her, sweating, his ice-blue eyes watching her face in admiration. He smiled, proud to have made her come so hard.

Avery traced her fingers along his Cupid’s bow lips and let out a soft laugh. “Not bad, Mr. Cumberbatch.”

“‘Not bad’?” he panted. “We’re not done yet.” Ben kissed Avery deeply on the mouth. He stroked the hair away from her face and rubbed his nose against hers. “Ready?”

Avery giggled. She turned over onto her stomach and got on her hands and knees.

Ben raised a brow. “ _Really_?”

Avery gave him a look over her shoulder. “Settle down, cowboy. Exit only.”

“Mmm, but it’s so beautiful and just . . . _there_.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her rear.

“If you want any chance of making me come again, you’ll abandon the ‘back door’ idea. Posthaste.”

Ben laughed and gave her arse a playful slap. “Anything you want, love.” He reached around and rubbed her clit to get her juices flowing again, planting butterfly kisses along her back and neck.

When Avery emitted a soft moan, Benedict position his cock at the entrance of her pussy and slowly guided it in. Once he was buried all the way in her, Ben thrust his hips and a pounded her again. The wet sound of their thighs slapping against each other made his cock throb with every push.

Avery grabbed the edge of the bed again, her knuckles white. “Oh, yeah, just like that,” she breathed. “Fuck me.”

Ben obliged. If he could get Avery off again it would be a bonus, but now he wanted nothing more than to grab her ass and come inside of her. He ran his hands up and down her back, squeezing her hips as he pounded her relentlessly. The bed creaked and groaned as they fucked.

“Fuck,” Ben moaned. “Ohhhh fucking hell!”

Avery’s cries of pleasure gave him life, made his blood pump iron. He wanted to make her scream for all of London to hear, to let everyone know that he could make her beg and plead for his cock so easily. Call it a power trip or call it arrogance, Benedict didn’t care. A beautiful woman like her deserved a man who knew what he was doing, and Ben dared to think he was giving it to her now.

“I’m coming,” he whispered. “Fuck . . . I’m coming—”

“Don’t stop!”

Ben rammed his cock inside her and came hard, the condom filling up with his hot semen. At nearly the same time, Avery’s arms gave out and she fell forward, crying out and moaning as another orgasm lit her body on fire. Ben pumped a few times for good measure, his prick throbbing and twitching as Avery became wet around him. One last thrust and he was done, his body trembling and his knees aching.

They both collapsed forward, Ben lying on Avery’s back as she struggled to catch her breath. He raised himself up slightly to give her air and kissed her shoulder blades. “Jesus Christ,” he said, pulling out of Avery. “That was a good goddamn fuck.”

Avery laughed and turned over onto her back. “My legs are numb.”

“Good.” Ben rolled off of Avery and lay beside her. He took the spent condom off and flung it haphazardly across the room. His dick was still semi-hard. He blamed Avery’s breasts and the dark curls along her snatch. She was impossibly beautiful.

They lay quietly for a moment, coming back down to earth and waiting for the white specks to stop dancing before their eyes. Benedict finally reach a hand over and stroked Avery’s hair. Her stared at her lovingly, the glow of their lovemaking turning her even more radiant than he could ever imagine.

Avery caught him looking and smiled. “What?”

Ben traced her jawline with his finger. “You’re so beautiful.”

Avery returned the adoring look and said, “So are you.”

Benedict opened his arm. “Come here,” he beckoned.

Avery snuggled up against him and he held her gently, stroking her arm and smelling her hair. It may have been the haze of love, but even Avery’s sweat smelled great. Ben kissed her temple and whispered, “I love you.”

Avery smiled again widely and wrapped her arm around his waist. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hours to write, seconds to comment. <3


	23. Hours After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Avery bask in the glow of their new relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I've been neglecting this story. I'm trying to make more time to write. Thanks to everyone who keeps reading and who hasn't given up on me. I love you all very much!

Even though they were both exhausted from their love-making, it was far too early to go to sleep. So at only six in the evening, Benedict and Avery lay in bed together, chatting idly while he stroked her hair, or she connected the freckles on his shoulders. Sometimes they would stop and just kiss, exploring each other’s mouths and the contours of their lips. When they weren’t kissing, Avery watched as Ben prattled on, paying particular attention to the arch of his brows and the stubble on his cheeks. His blue eyes were iridescent in the evening light. Every inch of him felt like a new land she was discovering.

 When Avery rolled over onto her belly, Ben traced her spine with his fingertips and stopped at her lower back. “I love this spot,” he said. “Right here.” He touched the dimples above her tailbone.

“I don’t,” Avery remarked. “My hips are huge.”

“No, they’re _perfect_.” Benedict kissed the small of her back to prove it. “I want to live inside those dimples. Make a tiny hut and just nestle in like a squirrel.”

Avery laughed. “You’re daft.”

“Yes, and why you love me is a mystery to me.”

“Seriously?” Avery raised her head from the pillow. “Do you know how many women are dying to throw their knickers at you?”

Ben laid his head on the pillow and stared up at Avery. “Fame alone is not reason enough to love someone. Not to mention, I have a horse face and an arse name.”

Avery rolled her eyes. It was astounding how a man as talented and handsome as he could ever be self-conscious. She propped her elbow on the pillow, cradled her head in her hand, and said, “Do you know the moment I realized I was in love with you?”

“Hmm?”

“When I gave you that scarf I knitted on New Year’s Eve. You were so excited about it, even though it was rubbish. Seeing you wear it all night like that—not caring what people thought—it just . . .” Avery smiled at Ben. “It sealed the deal for me.”

Benedict grinned. He reached out and touched her hair. “I bloody love that scarf.”

Avery nestled into his chest and stroked his arm. “When did you know you loved me?”

Ben’s heart sped up. Avery could feel and hear it and it piqued her curiosity. “When you walked into the study at your first interview.”

Now it was Avery’s turn to have a galloping heart. “Really?” she asked dubiously.

“I mean, it . . . it wasn’t lightning bolts and fireworks or anything like that. But I knew something was different about you. I can’t explain it. It’s like . . . everything just made sense when I met you.”

Avery raised her head from Benedict’s chest and looked at him. There wasn’t an ounce of teasing or insincerity in his voice. He looked at her with all the love and admiration she had come to know for him. “That’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Ben smiled and planted a kiss on her lips. He shrugged and said, “That, and you have fantastic tits.”

Avery laughed and pushed him away. “Prat.”

Benedict chuckled and sat up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, walking across the room completely naked.

“Where are you going?” Avery asked.

“I want to see my dad again before visiting hours are over.” Ben pulled a t-shirt over his head and glanced over his shoulder at the stunning, naked woman in his bed. “Would you like to come?”

Avery sat up and said, “I think I’ll stay here, if that’s all right. I have some e-mails to catch up on. Can I use your laptop?”

“Sure,” Ben said, putting on a pair of briefs and jeans. “Chinese for dinner?”

Avery grinned and nodded. It was amazing how naturally they had slipped into these roles of boyfriend and girlfriend. It was a side of him she had seen many times before—doting over someone so casually—but now that they were in a relationship, it felt different somehow. It felt _real_. And Avery felt particularly special to be the target of his affections.

When Benedict left, Avery put on one of his button-down shirts and strolled through the flat, checking her messages on her phone and returning a few important calls. She dialed Nani and her friend picked up after just one ring.

“You horrible slut!” Nani cried.

Avery smiled widely. “Hello, _priya_.”

“Please tell me his face is buried between your thighs right now.”

Avery laughed and sat on the stairwell. “How are my flowers?”

“I put them in a vase after you left,” Nani replied. “I’m pretending they’re from Raj. But really, how was he?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“That’s bollocks, and you know it. Just tell me what it looks like, at least.”

Avery laughed and shook her head. “I am _not_ telling you what his penis looks like!”

“Why not? I’ve told you what Raj’s prick looks like many times!”

“Yes, and I hate you every day for it.” Avery stood and walked back upstairs to the bedroom. She flounced on the tousled bed and switched the phone to her other ear. “I’m crazy about him, Nan. He’s amazing.”

“I’m happy for you, sweetie. You deserve it after all the shit you’ve been through.”

Avery wrapped her hair around her finger. Her cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling too much. She felt like a schoolgirl at a slumber party. “Thanks, Nan. I’ll probably be staying here for night. Give Raj my love."

“I want details when you come home!” Nanita ordered.

“Goodbye, Nan.”

“I mean it!” her friend yelled. “At least tell me if he’s circumcised—”

“ _Goodbye_ , Nani.”

Avery hung up on her friend and threw the mobile across the bed, giggling. She lay there for a moment, thinking about her day with Ben, how utterly fantastic their lovemaking was, how gentle and sweet and considerate he was. It made Avery want to curl up in a ball and just collapse in on herself with happiness.

0000000

With nothing else to do until Ben came home, Avery did what she always did when she was bored—she cleaned. It started with the bedroom, opening the windows to air out the delicious smell of sex, putting clothes in the hamper, and making the rumpled bed. Then she started in the bathroom.

 _Big mistake_ , Avery thought.

She had met blokes whose bathroom were Florida swamps, but this was unreal. How a man who was hardly home could make such a mess, Avery didn’t know. He had wet towels and dirty clothes on the floor. The shower and tub had wicked calcium buildup, and the sink counter was cluttered with hair product, globs of toothpaste, and bottles of cologne. At least now Avery was seeing the dirty side to her new boyfriend—most women waited as long as possible to keep the illusion of their “drip-dry” sweethearts, then gave themselves a rude awakening when they discovered it actually took _effort_ for their boys to look so good.

Effort was one thing. Dried toothpaste was quite another.

When Avery was done with the bathroom (she drew the line at scrubbing the shower and toilets), she moved to the kitchen. The act of scrubbing and sweeping was always therapeutic to her. It was the organizer in her. She needed things to be neat and orderly at least some of the time as a way to keep control over things. She couldn’t tell the tabloids not to publish candids of her and Ben. She couldn’t keep people from gossiping over the internet about their “affair. Now that Avery was in a relationship with her boss, cleaning his flat was the only thing she had control over.

At about six-thirty, Benedict came home with a paper bag of Chinese food under his arm. Avery was still in the kitchen, her head hidden under the sink where she was organizing his cleaning supplies.

“Avery?” Ben called. He couldn’t see her from where she lay as he walked into the kitchen.

“Down here,” she said.

Ben set the food on the island counter and peered over at the sink. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked.

Avery emerged from the cabinet and stood. Her hair was a mess, pulled haphazardly in a ponytail. Her white tank top was dirty from dusting and her sweatpants were rolled to her knees. She was sweating and her back ached, but she smiled at him, nonetheless.

“I was just cleaning,” Avery explained.

Ben looked around, then back at her. “Why?”

Avery laughed. “Thought you’d appreciate a change from wet towels on the floor and cobwebs over the stove. Is that dim sum?”

Ben shook his head and began unloading the food. “You know, I can pay to have someone come and clean.”

“What fun is that?” Avery asked, getting two plates down from the cupboard. She set them on the counter. “Besides, I’m usually more thorough than a cleaning service.”

Ben smiled. He moved around the island counter and put his hands on Avery’s waist. “Well thank you.” He kissed her lips. “That was very nice of you.”

“You’re welcome.” Avery kissed him back. “How’s your dad?”

“Good,” Ben said, gazing into Avery’s eyes. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s eating well and all brain activity is normal. He’ll be home soon.”

“That’s great,” Avery said, smiling.

Ben grinned widely. He couldn’t get over how adorable Avery looked—frumpy and dirty and sweating, but still with so much sweetness and grace. “You look good in my clothes,” he said, motioning to her tank top. Ben kissed her neck. “Sexy.”

Avery chuckled. “I’m sweating like a pig and I smell like Windex.”

“Mmmph, even better.” Ben lifted Avery up by her thighs and set her on the island counter.

Avery laughed and wrapped her hands on the back of Benedict’s neck. He kissed her neck again, then between her breasts, running his hands up and down her back. “The food will get cold!” she said.

“I don’t care.” Ben lifted Avery’s shirt over her head and tossed it aside. He cupped his hand over one of her breasts, the silky fabric of her bra tantalizing him, then kissed her deeply on the mouth.

Avery moaned into his kiss. She wrapped her legs tighter around his torso, her clit pulsing with desire. Avery raked her fingers through his hair to draw his tongue deeper. Ben parted from her lips and rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. Avery loved moments like this in the middle of their passion, when he took just a second to be sweet and playful, to remind her that he truly cared about her. Not that she had any doubts anymore.

Benedict took Avery’s hand and guided it to his crotch. She could feel his erection through his denims. “Uh-oh,” Avery murmured. “What’re we going to do about _that_?”

Ben smiled with his teeth. “I have some ideas.” He grasped her rear and pulled her off the counter, carrying Avery across the kitchen. They kissed all the way to the living room, where they made love on the freshly-dusted couch.


	24. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Avery have finally accepted their feelings for one another. But not everyone is happy about it.

At seven-thirty the next morning, Ben was awoken by the sound of his mobile ringing. He was spooning Avery, arm wrapped around her waist and head buried in her hair. He hated whoever was calling in this moment. He wanted to kill them for disturbing his blissful sleep.

Ben eased his arm out from under Avery and turned over. He grasped for the phone on his nightstand, his head half-buried in the pillow. “Hellugh?” he mumbled.

“Benedict Timothy Carlton Cumberbatch!”

Ben’s eyes popped open. His mother only used his full name when she was properly angry with him. His mind raced, wondering what he could have possibly done to piss her off. “Mum? What’s wro—”

“I had to read in a bloody tabloid rag that you and Avery are carrying on right under our collective bloody noses! How do you think that makes me feel that the _Daily_ _Sun_ knows about this before I do? I could just wallop you, Ben—”

Benedict pulled the phone away from his ear as his mother rattled on. He pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed. His back was sore from rampant lovemaking with Avery. He would have smiled at that fact if he wasn’t so terrified of Wanda. Ben imagined her pacing the hospital corridor, her face red, that little wrinkle between her eyes getting deeper. He hated being snipped at by her when he was a child, and he still hated it to this day. She could make him feel like a prepubescent school boy with just the tone of her voice.

Avery stirred and turned over. “What’s wrong?” she asked groggily.

Ben put the phone back to his ear.

“ . . . never happened like this back in _my_ day!” Wanda continued. “The press were more polite back then—ho ho, they wouldn’t _dare_ go snooping into my private life with your father! Bunch of bloody leeches, sleuthing around London and taking phot—”

“Sorry,” Ben interrupted, “but are you mad about me and Avery being together, or mad at the paparazzi? You’re giving me mixed signals.”

There was a surprising pause. Then Wanda said gently, “Oh, darling, of _course_ I love Avery! She’s such a doll, and you’re father and I couldn’t be happier that you found someone.” Wanda sighed. “I just wish you would have told me first, rather than letting me find out from—”

“Mum, it just kind of _happened_ ,” Ben rubbed his eyes. He was dead tired and in no mood to defend himself. “We didn’t intend for the press to know right away.”

“As bloody-well you shouldn’t have!” Wanda was back to yelling. “I have a right mind to call the editor of that rag and sue them for—”

Ben pulled the phone away from his ear again and rolled his eyes. No doubt Wanda would carry on like this for hours if she could. When his mother got angry, she was like a dog with a bone—gnashing fervently until there was nothing left.

Avery sat up, the bed sheet wrapped around her breasts, and put her hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Everything all right?” she murmured.

Ben turned his head slightly to Avery. “Will you get the paper from the front step, please?”

Avery kissed his neck and slipped out of bed. She put on one of his button-down shirts and padded downstairs.

Ben put the phone back to his ear.

“—and Thatcher! Now _she_ was a woman who could handle stress! Talk about paparazzi swallowing her whole, poor dear. Not that I agreed with her politics, but—”

“ _Mum_!” Ben groaned. He stood and took a calming breath. “This was going to happen sooner or later. Everything will be all right. I’m fine. Avery’s fine.”

Suddenly, a scream rang from downstairs, followed by the slamming of the front door. Ben whipped around. “Mum, I have to call you back.” Benedict hung up and threw his phone on the bed. He threw the bed sheet over his naked body and rushed downstairs. Avery has her back to the front door, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

Avery blinked a few times. She looked like she had seen a ghost. “I-I went to get the paper. There are photographers outside. At least ten.”

Ben peeked through the lace curtain of the narrow window by the door. A dozen or so men stood on and around his front step, cameras in hand. Benedict seethed with rage. He held Avery’s arms and looked her in the eye. “Are you all right? Did they take your picture?”

“I-I don’t know.” She let out a frustrated cry. “For fuck’s sake, I’m in my underwear!”

“I’m phoning the police,” Ben said, turning back for the stairs. “If _any_ of them leaks a picture of you, I’m suing.”

0000000

The police were able to calmly shoo the paparazzi from Benedict’s doorstep, though a few curious neighbors poked their heads out from behind their curtains to see what the fuss was about. The rest of the morning was spent fielding calls from Ben’s publicist, his agent, and worried friends. Nani called Avery to make sure everything was all right, but Avery could only chat for a minute before she received yet another call from the _Daily Sun_ for an interview.

“Christ, they don’t let up,” she said. “It’s not like you’re dating Pippa Middleton.”

Ben hummed as he poured a cup of coffee for Avery. “Maybe not to you, but for _me_ . . .”

Avery rolled her eyes and smiled. “Shut up.”

Ben sat next to her at the table and slid the mug over to her. His laptop was open to the _Daily Sun’s_ webpage, and the very front cover featured a picture of Avery and Ben’s date from yesterday. It wasn’t a bad photo, per say, but Avery felt violated and embarrassed just looking at it. She wondered if this was how Ben felt whenever his face was on the cover of a magazine or tabloid.

Avery sighed and rested her elbow on the table, head in hand. “What do we do?” she asked.

“This will blow over in a few days,” Ben said.

“But what if we go out again on a date? Will we be followed then, too?”

Benedict paused, staring into his coffee cup for a long while. Finally he said, “Probably.”

Avery stared at Ben. She couldn’t read his emotions. Obviously he was angry, but his face was expressionless, eyes staring off in contemplation. “So . . . what’s the game plan, then?”

Ben sighed and ruffled his shaggy black hair. He looked at Avery, reached out, and touched her hair. “I’ll make a statement later today, telling the press or whoever that . . . well, that you’re my girlfriend.”

Avery smiled slowly. “Really?”

Ben nodded. “If it’s what you want.”

She nodded. “I’d be thrilled.”

Benedict grinned and kissed Avery’s forehead. He put his arm around her and held her closer. “I just wish we had had more time together as a couple before the entire world knew about it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Though you did throw yourself at me the moment we met—”

Avery laughed and slapped him on the chest. Her mobile rang somewhere in the clutter on the table. She found it under a stack of legal documents and checked the screen. It was her father. Avery answered. “Dad?”

“Avery.”

Avery stiffened. Her father always answered with her nickname, always with a laugh. Now he sounded cross. “How are you?” she asked.

“I, erm . . . I saw the paper today.”

Avery sat back in her chair. She gave Ben and uneasy look. “Oh? Which one?”

“This doesn’t look good, Avery,” Henry said. “I thought you were _working_ for this man?”

“I was—I mean I am.” Avery swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s not what you think, Dad.”

“What am I thinking, Avery?”

She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know."

Benedict gave Avery’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and made an exit. She was grateful for the time alone.

“When did this all begin?” Henry asked his daughter.

Avery let out a breath, unable to give a truthful answer. When _did_ it start? When they flirted at the pub in Bristol? When Benedict gave her that expensive book at Christmas? When they kissed drunkenly at New Year’s? Or was it always there, the second she walked into the room on her interview day—a spark unseen by both of them designed by the cosmos so they could arrive at the very second on this very day?

“It’s complicated,” Avery finally said.

“He’s your boss,” Henry argued.

“I know. But he’s a good man. He didn’t take advantage of me or anything.”

“D’you know what the girls at the shop are saying? They’re sayin’ you shagged him for the job.”

“Dad!”

Avery stood, completely taken aback. Those old birds down at Portsmouth always had salty tongues, and they never liked anyone from town who moved on and became successful. Still, their gossip hurt Avery deeply. If a few slimy old ladies in the south thought she was whore, what about the rest of the nation? What if _everyone_ thought she was only his PA because she fucked him? Her credibility as a professional would be ruined. She would be a laughing stock.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Henry said gently. “I shouldn’t have told you that. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Avery put her hand to her face as tears welled in her eyes. “It’s too late for that,” she whispered. Her throat stung with the urge to weep. “Dad, I love him. And he loves me. It isn’t bad. How could that be bad?”

“I know, I know.” Henry said. “I’m sorry, Avey-baby. Goddamn it. I’m a right prick for even thinkin’ . . . Oh, bloody hell.”

A rouge tear fell down Avery’s cheek. She brushed it away and said, “I have to go, I have things to—”

“I’ll call you later tonight, Avey-baby,” Henry said. He sounded genuinely sorry for their conversation. “I love you, pet.”

Avery sniffled. “I love you too, Dad.”

She hung up the phone and buried her face in her hands, pressing the mobile to her forehead. Avery cried, her chest heaving with every sob. Suddenly a pair of hands were on her shoulders. She looked up and Ben was kneeling beside her. He wrapped her in his long arms and held her to his chest.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s okay, darling.”

Avery melted into his embrace. She felt warm and safe and comforted, but the awful, upsetting idea her father had planted in her head made Avery miserable. A thousand hugs from the man she loved couldn’t erase the fact that all of England—hell, all of the _world_ —knew she was both Benedict’s employee and lover, and thus was somehow undeserving of either titles.

Avery raised her head from Ben’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “I don’t think I can be your PA anymore.”


	25. Reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben convinces Avery that it doesn't matter what the tabloids think of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, I lied. I have to end the story here. I've tried writing more for Ben and Avery, but everything comes out looking like I'm trying to beat a dead horse. Their story ends here, but at least it ends well. Thank you all SO MUCH for reading and commenting and giving me kudos. This story was such a blast to write, and I couldn't have done it without your support. 
> 
> I'm writing a semi-sequel involving Andrew Scott called "Raglan Road." If you liked "The Assistant," please check it out! xoxox

Benedict blinked lazily a few times, processing what Avery had just told him.

 “I don’t understand,” he said finally.

Avery wiped the last of her tears away and paced the kitchen. She often had brash thoughts when faced with a crisis—it was a defense mechanism built up over years of struggling to do things perfectly the first time. She knew they were irrational thoughts, too, that the world wouldn’t  _really_  come to an end if she failed to file that piece of paper or forget to make that phone call. But her senseless brain wouldn’t let this one go.

The world knew Avery and Ben were an item. They knew she worked for him, fetched him things and got him coffee and had his shirts pressed, and they all thought she had shagged him for the job.

Avery knew this wasn’t true. Ben knew this wasn’t true. So why did the opinion of hundreds of thousands of people matter so much?

“It’ll be too strange,” Avery admitted, standing over the sink and peeking through the curtains. “I don’t want people thinking I’m working for you just because we snogged.”

Ben chuckled and Avery didn’t like the tone of it. It was an “oh, you silly little girl” laugh, one that made her feel vulnerable and weak.

“Avery, that’s ridiculous.” Ben came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He leaned his face against her head and said, “What do you care what perfect strangers think of us?”

“It’s different for you,” Avery replied. “You’re probably used to all of this. Your attention is positive, and people think I’m a whore.”

“They don’t think that,” Ben said.

“They do.”

“Then sod ‘em.” Ben kissed the back of Avery’s head. “You’re not just a fling to me. You’re important. And people will realize that over time.”

Avery turned around to face Ben and he kept his arms locked around her. “Everything will be different now, won’t it?”

She could see it all clearly—the swarms of paparazzi taking her picture instead of just Ben’s, the headlines of the tabloids speculating her sexual history, the whispers of those old bitties at the pub in Portsmouth. She would no longer be Avery Lorris, a nobody. She would be Avery Lorris—Benedict Cumberbatch’s girlfriend.

Ben sighed and brushed a stray strand of hair from his lover’s face. “If you want to quit, I won’t stop you. And I won’t lie and tell you it won’t be hard for us for a while.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “But I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. You’ll never be alone in any of this.”

This lifted Avery’s spirits. All of those negative worst-case thoughts that spun in her brain came to a sudden halt. Yes, it might be tough. Yes, the tabloids would be ruthless. Yes, others might call her a whore. But Ben was here for her. He would be an umbrella of titanium in a hailstorm of bullets. Whatever the world thought of them together, Avery knew it couldn’t touch how she and Ben really felt.

She smiled slowly and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I guess I could stay on a little longer,” she teased. “Where would you be without me, anyway?”

Benedict grinned. “Six feet under within a week,” he said, parroting the time they sat by the pool in California. He believed it now as he believed it then—that Avery was holding him completely together, not just because she was his PA, but because he never realized how fractured he had been before meeting her. Everything in his life before he met her felt like a dream someone else had been having, a dream that was pleasant enough but didn’t allow him to control where it went or how it ended. With Avery, he finally felt like the driver of his own destiny.

Ben cupped Avery’s cheek in his hand and brought her closer for a kiss. She sighed contently, a signal that everything was okay now, for the most part. She parted her mouth and Ben took his chance to slip his tongue between her lips. He snaked his large hands from Avery’s waist down to her rear, lifted her up, and set her right on the edge of the kitchen sink. Avery responded by wrapping her legs around his waist and slipping her hands under his shirt. She glided her fingers up his strong back and moaned when he kissed her neck.

000000)

Avery couldn’t stop smiling.

She smiled on her cab ride home, hardly noticing the vehicle following her.

She smiled stepping onto her front stoop, blissfully unaware of that same vehicle stopping a few feet away on the street.

She smiled as she slid the key in her door, ignorant of the man clicking a camera just behind her on the sidewalk.

She smiled all the way up the three flights of stairs to her apartment.

She smiled as Nanita grilled her about recent events—the date, the tabloids, the reporters who had discovered their number and were calling nonstop. Nani yelled in a mixture of Hindi and English, all at once excited and worried and pissed at Avery for seeming so nonchalant.

“If you’re going to sit there and grin like a bloody idiot, I’m going to put curry power in your shampoo bottle.”

Avery slowly floated back down to reality. “Reality” was a pair of pajamas, a hop cup of tea in hand, and her legs crossed as she sat on the couch. Avery couldn’t even remember doing all these things. And she didn’t care. The more she grinned, the angrier Nani seemed to get.

“Oh, you cheeky little twat!” Nani stuck her finger in front of Avery’s face. “You know I had to disconnect the phone because so many people were calling! I can’t even pop over to the shops for cinnamon because of the bloody paparazzi out there! Are you listening to me?”

Avery’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much. She didn’t care. She has just had the best shag of her life. How was it even possible for her to have lived so long without being fucked so well? Colors were brighter. Sounds were sharper. And everything was perfectly, wonderfully _good_.

Finally, Nani relented and snuggled next to Avery, resting her head on her friend’s shoulder. “I hate you, you know,” she mumbled.

Avery kissed the top of Nani’s head and said, “I know.”


End file.
